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|ht of 
tliie ffrods 

A Novel by 
Patrick Bruskiewich 

Gj otter cCamerung - 
TwiCigfit of the Qods 

A Novel about Wartime Technical Collaboration between German 
and Japan in the area of rockets and chemical weapons, and a plan to 
attack San Francisco during the inaugural meeting of the United 
Nations in the spring of 1945. 

There are aspects to this novel based on the radio intercept work done 
at Station Point Grey at the University of British Columbia, and still 
classified Special Intelligence that is secreted away in the intelligence 
archives of several Governments. 


Patrick Bruskiewich 


© Patrick Bruskiewich 2013, Vancouver, BC, Canada 
All rights reserved. 

The cover is an actual 1944 drawing for the Wasserfall surface to air missile. 

This book or any part thereof must not be reproduced in any form without 
the written permission of the author. 


Table of Content 

Chapter 1 Was serf all 5 

Chapter 2 - the Best Laid Plans 20 

Chapter 3 - HMS Seraph 24 

Chapter 4 - Worth its Weight in Naval Steel 35 

Chapter 5 - A City With Too Many Iron Crosses 45 

Chapter 6 - He Felt Secure In His Fate 50 

Chapter 7 - What Winston Asked for . . . Winston Got 61 

Chapter 8 - Halloween was their Favourite Time of Year 70 

Chapter 9 - Lunch Would be Nice 82 

Chapter 10 - Something Really Important! 91 

Chapter 1 1 - A Faustian Bargain Brought Home 99 

Chapter 12 - The Argentine Option 105 

Chapter 13 - Neither Confirm nor Deny 112 

Chapter 14 - A Fox Amongst the Chickens 126 

Chapter 15 - It's not my war, after all, is it! 136 

Chapter 16 - Stockholm is so Peaceful at Christmas 147 

Chapter 17 - The Okamoto Entente 164 

Chapter 18 - Ingeniously Simple. This Might Just Work! 179 

Chapter 19 - We Will Need Forty for Tomorrow 189 

Chapter 20 - Special Delivery 195 


Chapter 21 - Ship through Dresden 222 

Chapter 22 - Rockets on New York 229 

Chapter 23 - The End of Dresden 249 

Chapter 24 - A Quick and Painful Death 263 

Chapter 25 - Argentina Must Wait 265 

Chapter 26 - Stockholm in the Spring 266 

Chapter 27 - Our Worst Fears ! 27 1 

Chapter 28 - The Best Kept Secret of the European War 279 

Chapter 29 - She Was M's Favourite and She Knew It 286 

Chapter 30 - Otherwise it is Gotterdamerung 293 

Chapter 31 - The Queen of Station Point Grey 301 


Chapter 1 Wasserfall 

The drab gray Flak-Raketen Wasserfall looked rather modest against the 
cold red morning sky. It looked somewhat like its older brother the A4 
surface to surface missile but the Wasserfall was shorter and had fins one- 
third of the way back from its nose to provide it more ballistic stability. At a 
mere 7.84 metres the Wasserfall was about half the height and half the 
weight of its older brother the A4. 

And unlike the A4 that looked like a seething monster as it was filled with 
its liquid oxygen oxidizer, the Wasserfall was like a timid pup that stood 
eager but no as threatening. But it was still a Nazi weapon of war. 

While the A4 was just a guided missile meant to plummet from a great 
height and a terrific speed down onto its target, the little Wasserfall was 
designed to climb, chase after and destroy its target, enemy bombers high up 
in the sky over wartime Germany. The Luftwaffe had failed to stop the 
whirlwind of airborne retribution using conventional airplanes and so they 
were desperate for new weapons to combat the ever growing number of 
allied bombers plummeting German cities and industries to rubble. 

Still under developed in an organization that was redundant and fraught with 
infighting were Luftwaffe weapons like the Me-262 twin engine jet, the Me- 
163 rocket plane, the He- 162 single-engine jet, and the super-secret Horten 
Ho IX. The Wasserfall, was different. It was a point defence weapon and 
less expensive to build and operate compared to jet and rocket aircraft. 


The first of its kind ever built anywhere in the world, the Was serf all was 
another of the growing number of advanced weapons produced by the 
diabolical and perverted genius of Nazi science - it was a radar guided 
surface to air missile, complete with proximity fuse, designed to be guided 
by a human operator using a Wurzburg radar as its electronic eyes. 

This cold morning, the small missile, stood ready on it mobile erector. This 
was the fourth test in the latest rocket development test series. The other 
three launches earlier in the week had not gone well. They had, in fact, all 
failed miserably. The first one had exploded on the test stand when the 
combustion chamber burned through before it even lifted from the test 
gantry, an avoidable failure due to a faulty weld. 

The second test rocket had its Mischgerat propellant mixer fail and the 
whole thing just exploded in a giant pyrotechnics display. But this time the 
combustion chamber held. 

The third one had fired but two of the exploding bolts holding the rocket to 
the test gantry. When they finally let go the rocket was travelling sideways 
and the thin skin of one of the propellant tanks failed, spraying its contents 
throughout the sky. The range safety officer pressed a button and the rocket 
to self -destructed. 

The fourth test had cleared the gantry but started to oscillate in an unstable 
fashion. The fourth test missile slowly danced through the air, sluggishly 
toppled, then plowed itself into the ground before exploding. 


The ugly, twisted reminders of these other failures, lay scattered around the 
gantry at the north most tip of Peenemunde. 

If this fifth test, a Sunday morning test, failed and odds are it would, the 
whole program would be set back by weeks, if not cancelled altogether. 

Wernher Von Braun, technical director of the ElectroMechanishe Werke - 
EMW for short - was attending this launch. He had not been there to attend 
the four previous test. When he had heard of the four consecutive failures he 
immediately made arrangements to fly up from the A4 production facility, 
the Mittelwerke at Nordhausen, expressly for this last test launch. He 
would return to Nordhausen immediately after the fifth text launch, 
irrespective of the test results. 

Though he wanted the Was serf all missile development to succeed - der 
klein Projekt - as he called it, was beginning to get on his nerves. It had 
been fraught with technical difficulties and had drained his team of time, 
energy, people and resources. 

He knew that if this fifth launch did not succeed, he would lose less sleep 
that if it did. If it did succeed then the Mittelwerke would become even 
more crowded as a new production line would have to be set up to rush the 
Wasserfall into operational use. 

The "Boss", as his underlings called him, somehow brought with him good 
luck, along with his warm and encouraging smile. While General 


Dornberger might officially be in charge of the German rocket program, 
everyone knew that it was the "Boss" who actually ran the show. He thrived 
on technology, and it was almost as if by mere force of will he was able to 
push projects along to success. 

By order of the OKH - Oberkommando des Heeres (the German Army High 
Command) - von Braun and several of his key people had been seconded to 
the Luftwaffe to develop a Flak-Raketen, a radar guided surface to air anti- 
aircraft missile. 

The Was serf all was essentially a scaled down version of the A4 rocket - 
what the allies were now calling the V-2. To expedite the design, von Braun 
and his team had decided that the basic shape of the A-4 be scaled down to 
that of a shorter ranged guided missile, and the propellant and propulsion 
system changed to meet the stringent and unique Luftwaffe specifications. 

While the A-4 could reach a height of 60 km and a range of 300 km, the 
little missile weighed in at 3.5 tonnes fully loaded and only reached an 
altitude of 20 km and a horizontal range of about twice that far. 

Unlike the A4 which was fueled just prior to launch with its liquid oxygen 
its A-Stoff oxidizer and M-Stoff (methyl alcohol), the Wasserfall was 
needed to be ready for launch at instant readiness, any moment of the night 
or day. It would have to sit ready until needed. 

And so, for the Wasserfall the EMW team had decided upon a pressurized 
mix of 90 % nitric acid, with a 10% mix of sulphuric acid as a corrosion 


inhibitor, and Visol fuel which spontaneously ignited upon mixing. The 
Was serf all design did away with the heavy pumps and complex piping found 
in the A4 and delivered the oxidizer and fuel to the combustion chamber by 
means of dry pressurized nitrogen. 

The control of the missile was by four graphite vanes within the combustion 
gases as well as four aerodynamic control surfaces, one at the tip of each fin. 
The thought had been that since the acceleration rate of the Was serf all was 
so much faster than the A4 at the first few seconds after launch, that the 
smaller missile didn't need vanes in the combustion gases, but after a series 
of early failures the graphites were installed. 

Back at the Mittelwerke, Von Braun had closely and carefully watched the 
films of launch four and understood that the launch had failed at the first few 
seconds of launch because of longitudinal instability. 

The rocket had oscillated uncontrollably in the longitudinal direction, and 
the sloshing of the liquid fuel had toppled the rockets before there was 
sufficient airflow across the vanes to retain full control of the launch. 

An unexpected resonance had reared its ugly head. The damn thing was 
pogoing the way his younger brother use to jump up and down with the pogo 
stick Wernher had built him out of an old car spring and an old broom 
handle when he was eighteen and his brother ten. 


For the fifth launch he had instructed them over the telephone that they need 
to throttle back the rocket engine at launch and at his suggestion they had 
also jury rigged a cylindrical baffle into each tank. 

When the design engineers said it would take two weeks of redesign to 
throttle back at launch, von Braun had merely suggested they slip a pair of 6 
mm diameter washer into the fuel and oxidized lines at the main feed 
connectors to alter the back pressure and reduce the nitrogen pressure to 
reduce the propellant flow rate by 5 %. He then told them to use their 
Hazen- Williams flow charts to validate the calculations. 

When the design engineers doubted this would be enough to fix - das grosse 
probleme - he said they need to understand why the OKH paid him the big 
bucks ... he was in charge and they should do as they are told. 

They were ready in two days for the fifth test instead of two weeks. Two 
days were just enough time for Werner to make a quick visit home to visit 
his parents and then fly to Peenemunde for the fifth test. 

As he waited for the count to reach zero, von Braun was the epitome of 
confidence, but inside he prayed that the baffles and washers were all that 
needed be done to make this fourth test a successful. 

There was very little margin for error in the Was serf all design. Unlike the 
A4 which carried a warhead of 975 kg of amatol mix and a contact 
detonator, the Wasserfall carried a modest 235 kg warhead and a proximity 


The proximity fuse was a reversed engineered copy of a compact proximity 
fuse the German Afrika Korp had captured off the American Army Air force 
in North Africa. It had been recovered off a crashed bomber. When shown 
the fuses, von Braun suggested this Radio-gerdt be used on the Wasserfall. 

As the count down progressed, von Braun was peering out through a narrow, 
lead glass reinforced viewing turret at the missile which was just ten metres 
away. As the seconds counted down to launch von Braun listened closely to 
the checklist as it was read over the speaker. 

Von Braun had memorized the check list on his flight up from Nordhausen. 
At the pause at T-minus 10 seconds he nodded to the test director to proceed. 

Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . Zero! 

At zero, the test director pressed the launch button and from the tail of the 
rocket a yellow-red plume of exhaust gases shot out with an angry hiss. The 
propellants were being mixed in the 806 specially designed injection ports in 
the head of the combustion chamber. 

A yellow-red plume shot out the rear of the rocket and was spread in all 
directions by the diffuser at the base of the gantry. Within an instant a 
growing plume started to cloak the missile. While they were safely 
ensconced within the blockhouse, the rocket was whistling such a very high 
pitched sound, almost an ultrasonic noise, that the din seem to find every 
crevice around the blockhouse door. 


For a split second nothing more happened . . . then a thunderous voice in the 
back of the control room shouted "Eighty-five percent" and almost on queue 
the Was serf all slowly emerged from the cloud of its own exhaust gasses. 

"Lift- off." 

Although he had experienced many launches before, von Braun never seem 
to lose the thrill of the thing. A thrilling shiver would cascade down his 
spine when the launch button was pushed and the words lift-off was shouted 

He watched it closely. The little missile wobbled drunkenly for the first few 
metres. "Ninety percent ..." Then the Wasserfall began to fly almost 
straight up into the sky, rapidly gathering speed. 

The rocket rose slowly at first, as if it just wanted to stay close to the ground. 
It took a fraction of a second to clear the next few metres. The little missile 
was beginning to gather momentum. 

Von Braun smiled. His modifications worked and the missile was flying in 
a stable ballistic ascent. 

Behind him a cheer rose from the launch crew. Shut up the test director 
bellowed. The control room was once again silent save for the whistle from 
the rocket that was beginning to fade into the background. 


It continued to fly straight, maintaining a perfect ninety degree ascent to 
prevent its fragile, and heavily laden fuel tanks from bursting. The entire 
structure of the missile was made from thin skin aluminum to save weight 
and precious wartime resources. While it carried so much of its fuel at this 
point early in its trajectory, any roll or pitch could cause the fuel to shift, and 
the shifting weight to either topple the rocket or rupture the propellant tanks. 
From their calculations they knew the first fifteen seconds were the most 

When it the launch had passed the time plus fifteen seconds mark , the 
remote controller was ordered by the flight test director to took over positive 
control of the little missile. The controller eased his joy stick upwards. In 
unison the Wasserfall started to slowly arch northwards over the Baltic. 

Von Braun turned to the radar operator. "Well . . . report ..." 

"On track, altitude 2500 metres." 

A voice in the back of the control room added "thirty seconds to main 
Brennschluss - engine cut-off. 

Von Braun nodded as he walked across the small test bunker over to three 
paper tape recorders that were recording the pitch, roll and yaw rates of the 
test missile. 


On this test the warhead had been replaced by the telemetry equipment and 
the small vane powered generator normally used for the proximity fuse was 
instead powering the telemetry transmitters. 

Except for the first few seconds, which showed a noticeable wobble, the 
telemetry lines were straight and true on the paper tapes up until the 
maneuver was ordered by the flight director. Then the line began a gradual 

Von Braun turned to the controller. "Let's bring her to vertical again." 

He watched the altimetry reading. The line straightened out again. The 
Wasserfal was responding well to their commands. The altitude began to 
climb even more rapidly. Seven kilometres, then eight. Everything was 
going well. Twenty seconds to cut-off . . . 

Then nine, ten, eleven, thirteen, fifteen ... ten seconds to cut-off. 

Eighteen, nineteen .... Five seconds. Then time seemed to slow. 

The test director spoke next. "Brennschluss." 

They had reached 20 km altitude before the main engine ran out of fuel and 
cut off. The last few seconds of thrust were heralded by a transient 
instability that nearly toppled the little missile. As the propellants were 
being consumed, the centre of gravity was shifting rapidly forward on the 


rocket, while the centre of force remained fixed. At altitude, the 
aerodynamical vanes were just adequate to keep the rocket stable. 

"Heinz ... make a note for the automatic sequencer to close the nitrogen 
pressure valve when we reach 98 % tank depletion." 

The chief designer of the Wasserfall project Heinz Klassen responded, "Yes 

Von Braun watched as the altimeter continued to climb until it reached 22 
km. Not as high as his A4, but still an achievement in its own right. 

The missile began to stabilize on its way down. Von Braun turned to the 
controller. "Let's see if we can fly her down. Alter right." 

The paper track turned right. "Alter left." The paper track altered left, 
"centre!" The track returned to the centre of the chart. They were now at 
twelve kilometres altitude. "Fly her north." The controller altered the 
missile north. The four wings at the mid-rift of the Wasserfall gave it a 
modest amount of lift and a degree of maneuverability missing from the A-4. 

Von Braun was excited. Here was an actual guided missile! "Continue on 
this track and track the impact." The missile continued in its earthward 
plunge gathering speed. It was also getting further and further away from 
the launch site. 


When the Was serf all hit the water two minute after launch it was traveling 
twice the speed of sound and have achieved a downrange distance greater 
than its altitude. The boss was pleased. 

Von Braun turned back to face the launch crew. "You can inform the 
Luftwaffe that we have fixed our little probable and the Wasserfall is ready 
for production and operational deployment." 

"What about the rest of the test series?" Klassen asked. He expected to have 
three more Was serf alls ready for test launch in ten days. 

"They need to get this anti-aircraft missile into the field as fast as they can." 
He looked the younger man directly in his eyes and spoke to him and him 
alone. "Heinz what we don't tell the Luftwaffe can't hurt them. Besides 
they never listen to us anyhow." 

Von Braun turned towards the door, but before he stepped out of the bunker 
he stopped and turned to ask "and what's to happen to the test missile? Are 
we going to try to recover it?" 

Klassen nodded. "The Navy has sent out a coastal patrol boat." 

Von Braun gave his colleague a toothy smile as he let the cat out of the bag. 
"I understand they are rather interested in it as a short range weapon for 
deployment at sea." 


Klassen was surprised by this comment but chose not to react to it. He was 
tired, and the last thing he needed was more work. I guess, he thought, as 
chief designer no one tells him everything he needed to know, not even the 

No matter, he was just in charge of the liaison with the Luftwaffe. Let 
someone liaise with the Navy. Besides what the hell would they want with 
such bulky missile with such a small warhead? 

Wernher saw the tiredness in Klassen' s face and realized he should have not 
made the Navy scheme known to him. Or at least not today. 

He decided a little humour might cheer Heinz up. Von Braun chortled 
"Make sure if they find it that they give the missile back. Wouldn't want 
them to go rogue and make their own copies would we?" 

Heinz shook his head, and von Braun waved to him, turned and left the 

Klassen picked up the telephone and told the switchboard operator that he 
wanted to a long distance call to Berlin. After a few seconds a familiar 
voice answered his call. 

Before he could say anything the voice at the other end of the line asked him 
... he answered. "Yes Von Braun was just here. Don't you want to hear 
about the test ..." 


In disbelief Heinz Klassen listened as the Luftwaffe officer in Berlin told 
him that he already knew that the fourth test had been a success. 

Klassen slammed the phone down and turned to look at all the people 
milling about in in the bunker. The test crew went silent. They had seen 
Klassen angry before. They knew the signs and had gotten somewhat use to 
the ferocity of his words. But this time he was so angry he could not put his 
anger into words. All he could do is act! 

Seething with a mixture of pride for his success and anger towards the 
person who had stolen his thunder, chief designer Heinz Klassen stormed 
out of the launch bunker. 

Heinz marched off in pursuit of his "Boss" with the hope he could convince 
von Braun to let him fly back with him to Nordhausen. Heinz missed the 
camaraderie of the A4 team. He had had enough of the disfunctionality of 
the Was serf all project. 

When von Braun assigned him to this project he thought it was a sort of 
punishment for some unknown transgression. It took von Braun over six 
weeks of concerted effort and much political finesse to convince Klassen 
that he was being reassigned to der klein Projekt because Heinz was the best 
made then available for the job and the Luftwaffe wanted the best man 


The boss, von Braim, knew the challenges wasn't the rocket itself, that was a 
problem in engineering, it was the radar guided electronic control system 
and Heinz was a master at automated control systems. 

As he chased after him, when the Boss caught sight of Heinz, he understood 
immediately. Von Braun opened the back door of his automobile and waved 
him over just as he was about to drive away . 

Klassen didn't have to say a thing. The moment the door of the car closed 
the car sped towards the airfield and the waiting He-52 transport plane. 

"Best we be far away from here before anyone notices you are missing, heh 

Klassen slumped down so as not to be noticed by the sentry at the perimeter 
of the test area. The guard was really only interested to who and what was 
coming into the test area and so he just waved the familiar car through the 
sentry post. 

They slipped through without Heinz being noticed. 

Klassen climbed back up into the seat. "Thanks boss." 

"If anyone asks ... I can say your work here is complete ... at least for the 


Chapter 2 - the Best Laid Plans 

At the beginning of the war in 1939, when the pocket battleship the Graf 
Spee had been loose in the southern hemisphere, menacing both the South 
Atlantic and the Indian Ocean, for a few weeks at least the South Atlantic 
had been the centre of the naval board. Then there had also been a few 
weeks in 1942 - the Happy Times, in the months after the United States 
entered the European War. 

But now two years after the Happy Times, the naval battles were being 
fought in the North Atlantic and they were not so easy a fight. To both 
sides, the South Atlantic was now more like the edges of a chessboard - not 
crucial for the main skirmishes but nonetheless part of the battle itself. 

From time to time in 1944 both the Axis and the Allies played a spiel for a 
marginal advantage, but it really did not bring either side a great or decisive 
victory. Whenever one side or the other had the chance to play for some 
incremental gain they played the margins. A skirmish would be fought, and 
a ship or two would be lost here or there. 

The Battle of the Atlantic was now in its fifth year, and with so many of 
their land battles, and like those in the air, the battle at sea was going against 
the Germans. The intelligence war was also going against the Germans. 


Yet they kept on trying and by a mix of sheer perseverance and a little good 
fortune the B-Dienst had managed, as they did from time to time, to crack 
the merchantman code for the third week of May, 1944. 

From the deciphered messages they had caught wind of the presence in the 
middle of the South Atlantic of an air carrier group, mentioned in passing in 
an insecure merchantman's message, at 15 degrees north and 30 degrees 

Then there had also been a sighting by a Swedish ship enroute from 
Argentina with frozen beef which radioed a short message to Stockholm. It 
had passed astern of the carrier close enough to read the name of the ship. 
This message, in a simple polyalphabetic substitution, took the B-Dienst less 
than an hour to unravel. 

The B-Dienst had sent Admiral Donitz his weekly intelligence precise and 
with it a special docket marked most urgent. Donitz knew not to ask how 
they knew but the urgent docket had the name and position of the carrier the 
USS Block Island. The name of the carrier had come from the Swedish 

There had been a terrible storm that had pitched the South Atlantic for five 
days, and the surface ships had been tossed about like toys. One of these 
ships was a CVE, an escort carrier the USS Block Island. 


The storm had laid waste to the best laid plans of both sides. The Captain of 
the USS Block Island had been ordered to search and destroy the three U- 
boats that allied intelligence had told him were in the region. 

Instead his four destroyers were running high and nearly dry and were down 
to less 30% fuel. In a hard-nosed decision, the Captain of the USS Block 
Island had transferred some of its own fuel to one of its escorts but could not 
spare any fuel oil to the other three ships. He was forced to send three 
destroyers in his air carrier group in search of their oiler which had gotten 
waylaid by this fierce south Atlantic storm. 

The three U-Boats in the South Atlantic had also been caught by the storm 
and had been affected. One U-Boat was off the River Plate, one was just 
south of the Cape and the third was on its way back home. They had not 
being able to recharge their batteries for more than a few hours at a time 
each of the five days in the fierce toss of the sea. 

The CVE and its one remaining destroyer were making their way towards 
the north east back towards Cape Verde when early on the morning of May 
29 th , they traversed across the patrol line of U-549. 

As he peered through his periscope the Captain of U-549 could not believe 
his luck. They had stumbled upon the aircraft carrier far astern of its 
destroyer. There were no aircraft flying off the carrier, and it was steaming 
at a much reduced speed. 


The U-boat had weathered the storm and was low on battery power but 
decided nonetheless to press ahead with an attack. He let the escort 
destroyer pass them and then from a distance of 1,200 metres fired three of 
his new T-5 homing torpedoes into the escort carrier. Before they found 
their mark U-549 turned away at his top submerged speed to the west. 

When the U-549 surfaced at a distance of 8,000 metres from their target, a 
large dark cloud marked the agonizing demise of the USS Block Island. 
The escort carrier's USN destroyer was nowhere to be seen. 

Before submerging, the captain of the U-549 dispatched a message to U- 
Boat Headquarters, announcing their sinking of the ship, then turned north 
on his return to Lorient and home. 


Chapter 3 - HMS Seraph 

The captain peered intently through his periscope at the short rooster tail of 
water. The target's periscope appeared pretty much where he expected, and 
when as well. At the top part of the hour. The sun was at their port. When 
the sun glint flashed he took down his periscope and counted a long ten. 

Then he slowly raised his periscope a second time. H squinted to see clearer. 
There it was again . . . slowly crossing from starboard to port at an opening 
angle. The best that Captain Jewell of H.M.S. Seraph could figure is he was 
aft of his target's port beam, at the edge of its baffles. 

"Well ..." A wave swept across the face of his periscope blinding him with 
green-gray north sea water. 

"Twin screws . . . pitch perhaps 120 r.p.m." 

Captain Jewell smiled. It was him! 

Without a reference he could only estimate his target's actual distance. "Can 
you estimate its range ears?" He called his chief hydrophone and asdic 
operator - 'Ears' . 

"Between 400 and 800 yards." 

"That doesn't help me . . .give me your best guess." 


Ears responded immediately. "Between 575 and 600 yards." 

"Good man." Lower bound the geometric mean, upper bound the arithmetic 
- he had taught his hydrophone operators well. 

"Computer ..." 

"Sir ..." 

"Set target range 600 yards. Speed 4 knots." 

Amidst the other sounds of his command centre about His Majesty's 
Submarine Seraph, he could make out the scribbling and cursing of his XO 
calculating the shot. Math was not his strong point, but this was made up by 
his understanding of engineering and pilotage. His XO might never have his 
own command but he was well respected aboard Seraph. 

"Target mark ..." Jewell lined the crosshairs on the target and then stepped 
his head back to look at the angle ring on the periscope stanchion, adding 
four degrees for the deviation. "327 gyro." 

"327 gyro aye." 

The captain glanced back at his XO. He was manipulating the circular slide 
rule with acuity. Better he not trip his computer up, Jewell thought. He 
turned to his weapons rating. 


"Set depth 26 feet." 

The weapons rating responded. "Aye ... 28 feet," passing the order over the 
voice circuit. The XO caught the captain's eye and nodded, then tossed the 
circular slide rule down onto the chart table and wrote a number down. 

"Bow shot with a full spread of four, XO." Their torpedoes were noisy and 
slow at 22 knots. Jewell knew to edge the baffles to get his best angle and to 
hide the torpedoes from the target's hydrophones. At 22 knots the torpedoes 
would travel about 10 yards each second and take an entire minute to close 
the distance. 

"Captain ..." 

As he returned to the eyepiece the target periscope was still visible, but the 
rooster tail was beginning to ebb. 

"Are we ready?" 

The XO responded, "we have a match. Number one in seven second, spread 
four seconds apiece." The computer grabbed his stopwatch and stood ready. 

"Open bow doors ..." . 

After five agonizingly long seconds the repeat came back over the voice 
circuit "All doors open" 


As Jewell took one last view the target periscope disappeared from his view. 
He seated his own periscope and glanced at his watch. 

"Fire one." 

His computer started the stopwatch. After four seconds he nodded. 
"Fire Two ..." 

Then another four second wait. A second nod. 
"Fire Three ..." 

His gut told him not to wait for the next nod. 
"Fire four." 

Immediately Jewell ordered the bow doors closed. From the hydrophone 
station came the cry "all torpedoes running straight and true." 

"And the target?" 

"No change sir ..." 

Jewell turned to his XO and asked "how long? Keep the count ..." 


"Forty second to first impact." 

Jewell glanced at the clock on the billhead, "starboard five. XO . . . tell the 
torpedo room to reload tube number ones and two with Mk four and report 
back to control." 

The XO grabbed the command telephone and punched number one on the 
control switchboard. "XO here ... captain's order ... reload tube one and 
two with Mark fours." After a short pause the XO continued. "You heard 
the order .. reload one and two with Mark fours!" 

"Thirty seconds." 

Jewell nodded to the computer. "Hydrophones" 
"Sir ..." 

"Tell me when the target is abeam to port. 
The chief asdic operator piped up. "Aye sir." 
"Twenty seconds." 

"Sir hydrophones . . . target abeam to port." 
"Midships. What's his heading ears? 


"Heading 347 sir." 

"XO take her left and to a new heading of 347." His XO nodded his 
acknowledgement. At this point in the attack Jewell wanted a minimum of 
words from even his senior crew. 

"Ten seconds to impact." The computer was getting nervous. 
"Understand ten seconds." There was a calmness in Captain Jewell's voice. 
"Captain, hydrophones .." 

"Target picking up revolutions." 

"Understand target picking up speed." 

The XO spoke "bet he hears the fish coming at him." 

"Most likely number one." 

"Ears ... is he changing heading?" 

"Yes captain . . . but it's too early to tell which way he is turning." 


"Best guess ..." 

"Best guess ...port." The target was doing it by the book, Jewell thought. 
Turning in towards the torpedoes. 

The computer interjected "First impact." 

"Negative," came the response from ears." The first torpedo had missed. 
"Second impact." 

"Negative," came the response from ears." The second torpedo had missed. 
'Third impact . . / Another miss! 

Jewell was beginning to regret launching the final torpedo prematurely when 
there was a loud thud, audible even through the hull of the Seraph. The 
fourth and final torpedo had found its mark. Jewell let out a sigh. They had 
done it! 

"Captain . . . target blowing its tanks and surfacing." 

From the overhead switchboard came a rude squawk and light one flashed 
on the board. The XO punched the number and grabbed the telephone. He 
repeated the message to the captain. "Tubes one and two reloaded with Mk 


"Roger XO. Up periscope." 

The sea ahead of H.M.S. Seraph was clear of surface targets, save for a 
growing volcano of boiling water, from which emerged bow first a grey 
submarine. The bow broke the surface first then the rest of the submarine 
appeared. Jewell smiled to himself. There she is ! 

Then a figure appeared on the conning tower wearing a white cap, followed 
onto the bridge almost immediately by a second person wearing no cap at all 
but holding a signal lamp. The first figure scanned the horizon with a pair of 
binoculars on its port aft. Then the figure focused his attention on the 
Seraph's periscope. 

From the second figure, a series of Morse code flashes emanated from the 
target submarine. Captain Jewell beamed as he recounted the lamp message 
to his control room party: "You are getting too good ...go and try this on 
the Germans. CO ..V." 

Well, he thought, now that they have completed their training sortie, when 
they get back to HMS Forth and Holy Loch the Captain of His Majesty's 
Submarine Venturer owed Jewell a bottle of the best Scottish Whiskey. 

The fine Scottish Whiskey would help with the headache Jewell had had for 
much of the past hour. He did not take this kind of tension well. His 
shoulders tensed and it was just a matter of time before the headache arrived. 
This exercise it arrived about midway through the torpedo attack. He 
needed the peace and quiet of his cabin. 


Having seated the periscope, Captain Jewell made his way through the 
control room and to the bulkhead hatch before turning back to address his 
second in command. 

"Well XO stand down from action stations and take her home." 
'Captain ..." 
v Yes number one. v 

When Captain Jewell was secure and alone in his small cabin, he turned on 
the light over his bunk and sat. He pulled a flask of brandy out of his desk 
and took a swig. A warm feeling began to grow in his stomach. He took a 
second nip and then closed the stopper. He set the flask back into the desk 
and stretched on his bunk to relax. 

He turned off the light and listened to the sounds of his command. Above 
the sounds of the circulation fans and trimming pumps, he could just make 
out the voices of the control room party. As he closed his eyes his headache 
began to melt away. It was the concentration, more than anything else, and 
he was not use to such concentrated thought. 

He was proud of his crew. Whitehall had called the training exercise 
Operation Trout. While Venturer had managed one out of three, Seraph had 
bettered them at two to one in the training sortie. 


Both submarines could now take on a submerged target - one submarine 
against another. They had managed three successes out of six attempts. 

Still Jewell had his doubts. Against a real enemy, if they didn't succeed the 
first time around their adversary might blow them out of the water. 

As well, Jewell knew his enemy. HMS submarines had slow 22 kt 
torpedoes. Their adversaries had bigger, faster, longer distance and more 
deadly torpedoes. 

The Germans also had the new T-5 homing torpedo. Everything would 
hinge on Seraph finding their target, getting in its baffles and then firing 
first, straight and true. Otherwise they would be the ones fished out of the 
water like Trout. 

But Seraph had the advantage of better listening devices, better intelligence 
and the advantage of surprise. Besides Seraph was a lucky ship. Luck was 
an intangible that could drive men to acts of great and reckless courage. 

As he drifted asleep Jewell knew he was right to have trusted his judgement 
and fire the last torpedo early. His XO had got it wrong. They had fired too 
early or at a wrong angle. One or the other. 

Perhaps Jewell will be able to sort this out when they get back to HMS Forth 
do the debrief. . Otherwise, along with all the other things going on during 
their attack on a submerged target, he will have to get better at doing the 
calculations in his head. 


Captain Lieutenant Jewell RN knew they Seraph would get the mission - 
not Venturer. First Gibraltor and then Cape Verde and then the real thing ! 


Chapter 4 - Worth its Weight in Naval Steel 

The dots and dashes faded in and out as the atmospherics played with the 
message. She was very tired and concentrated as best she could at three in 
the morning. Her eyes were sore from the lateness, but it was her job. It 
might also have been the ozone in the air in the room full of radio 
equipment. Some nights the equipment made you hair stand end on. It 
mustn't been good for them. 

With one hand transcribing the rhythm to paper, she carefully tuned the knob 
to improve the reception. The fading lessened. 

The lyricism of the dots and dashes reminded her of her piano playing. To 
her some music was logical like Bach, and other pieces dripping in 
sentimentality like Chopin. His fist tapping the key half way around the 
world told her that he was a Chopin. 

She tried to imagine him, that anonymous radioman on the other side of the 
world, and the other side of the conflict. The softness of his touch, 
contrasted with the crispness of the edges. He must play the piano. If not 
his was a wasted talent. 

Dash dot dot dot. Susan Ross wrote ROKU on the form. The next grouping 
dot dash dash dash dash ICHI. From experience she knew that it was a page 
number and line number. 


The message continued and she too continued to transcribe the message onto 
the standard yellow RCN intercept form. It was slow, tedious and 
meticulous work. The kind of thing she was really good at. Sort of like her 
piano playing, without any creativity. 

When there was a pause she let her hand drop from the knob and lifted her 
half finished cigarette to her lips. She glanced at the sign over the door and 
smiled. NO SMOKING! Well, hell, I need to stay awake don't I? 

With the middle watch there was no one here but one duty officer and three 
WRENS, and they closed ranks. He was a left over from the Great War of 
' 14-' 1 8 and they were two decades too young for him. Besides he smoked a 
pipe and reeked of whiskey and tobacco. Maybe this is why his wife had left 
him? That and the fact he chased skirts. 

The dots and dashes resumed. Two minutes. Its good she had not gone to 
spend a penny she thought. There was no one to relieve her. She 
continued the monotony of the job for another three quarter of an hour and 
as the signal once again began to fade the message came to an abrupt end. 
The early morning atmospherics were arriving. 

Without taking the earphones off she stood and stretched. Six pages of 
message forms in triplicate for this message. As she looked out the 
window to the east the sky had begun to turn a purple hue. Dawn would 
soon be upon them and another night watch would have come to an end. 


She was lucky. Her contribution to the war effort was pretty straight 
forward, unlike others who had to toil at a factory job or worst, and unlike 
her dear brother who flew for the RCAF. She sat and intercepted messages, 
a small part of a secret network of RCN and RN naval intercept sites 
scattered around the world. 

One third of the way around the world in Germany there was a Chopin 
sending out his messages from Berlin. And one third of the way around the 
world in the other direct, there was some agent of the criminal Hirohito 
receiving these messages in Tokyo. 

And in the middle, at the right latitude and distance from both centres of the 
evil empires, sat this little insignificant building with the handful of 
unassuming and insignificant Wrens and Naval officers doing their duty to 
the King and country. 

Her post was a Marconi receiver in a little building on the campus of the 
University of British Columbia - Naval Intercept post Station Point Grey. 
One hundred metres to the West was a steep drop to the Pacific Ocean 
below. Surrounding the building was a set of tall antennas that she along 
with a handful of other very skilled operators used to snatch the signals out 
of the airways. A few hundred yards to the west the Campus of the 
Cambridge of the West Coast. 

She rubbed the small of her back and hips. Her back was sore from bending 
over her receiver and her kidneys throbbing. If she didn't do something 
soon things might burst. 


She looked down at her radio receiver, with all its knobs, metres, dials and 
switches. Somehow she felt that if she huddled closely in communion with 
this big gun grey box the set would function better. Or maybe it was just she 
who was just able to function better, and able to not miss a single dash or 
dot. The little grey box may seem innocuous but she somehow knew her 
Marconi was as lethal to the Japanese as any RCN naval ship. Good 
intelligence was worth its weight in naval steel and naval men they had told 
her when she took her training. 

They also told her "loose lips sink ships". She had not felt angry in the least 
when they had carted away Japanese students from UBC in early 1942, even 
some of her classmates in first year. After all it was their uncles and aunts 
who were making war for Hirohito, and the divided loyalties of these 
handful of Japanese students were not hidden all that far beneath the surface 
of things. 

They could not escape their upbringing, and Canadians could not bring 
themselves to trust anyone of Japanese heritage in the very least. It was bad 
enough the Japanese had made war with China and had raped and pillaged 
Nankin in '37, but they had declared war on Canada in 1941 and its allies in 
the world, and war is a dirty business. 

She also knew that this wasn't a question of Race. Canada was not at war 
with Asia, not with Chinese nor with Koreans, only against the 
perniciousness Japanese, and the horrible things they were doing in the name 
of their emperor and his tribal customs. There is nothing noble with the 


Samurai ands their Bushido code - they are just butchers who have 
ritualized butchery! 

It angered everyone that they had done a sneak attack on Pearl Harbour on 
December 7 th , 1941 and then said no, they would not abide by the terms of 
the Hague and Geneva conventions, even as they carted off the survivors of 
the defence of Hong Kong and set these brave Canadians and Brits soldiers 
into a greater hell than battle itself. They haven't even declared was when 
they attacked. Deceit was the way of the Japanese. 

She did not feel bad in they very least listening in to the other side's 
messages. She knew that the quicker she and her friends at Station Point 
Grey could help win this war, the better for the world in general. 

They were told that their job was of special importance to the success of the 
allied efforts against Nazi Germany and Imperial Japan. But no one told 
them how it was important. The messages were just gibberish. A 
scrambling of Kana that resembled a bunch of scrabble pieces tossed down 
haphazard on a board. 

She had guesses that somewhere, somehow, someone was able to make 
sense of the gibberish. As she stared down at the six pages of message form 
her eyes came into focus on a grouping of numerical groups midway through 
the message. 

When Chopin played his dots and dashes he always seemed to hesitate at 
special groupings of numbers, not just number in general but just a few 


groupings. Theses were the clues that she felt needed to be understood. 
They were evidently special! She glanced across the room at the duty 
officer and saw his back was turned. 

Quickly the jotted down the seventeen numbers on a small piece of paper 
and folded it crisply. She took her earphones off and set them onto the table 
before her. The earphones gave a slight click as the rolled on the table. The 
duty officer stirred and glanced over his shoulder. 

"Ready to file?" he asked, his eyes as bored as his words. She swallowed. 
"Just filling in some missing groups . . .". He nodded at her and turned back. 
What a damnable ogre she thought! 

That was close! She opened the button on her tunic and quickly slid her 
hand into the tunic and tucked the small piece of paper in her brassiere. The 
paper pinched her nipple and she flinched. The pinch just heightened the 
excitement she felt. Her heart was pounding. She had never done anything 
like this in the four years she had sat at her receiver. But the message that 
came over the airwaves tonight she knew was special. 

She wanted to know for herself just how special. She drew her hand out 
from under her tunic and buttoned it close. She gathered up the six pages of 
message form and clipped them together with a paper clip, making sure the 
six pages had the proper designator and sequencing. 

Before she stepped away from her receiver she flicked the switch from 
earphone to speaker. A soft static filled the room. If a message began to 


arrive during her absence, one of the others in the middle watch could rush 
over and pick up the message. She knew that was unlikely. Chopin only 
played once a night. His messages were short and very important, and she 
was the best intercept operator. The two were well matched. One played 
while the other listened. 

She walked over to the duty officer's desk and laid the sheets down in front 
of him. He did not look up as she walked past. 

She made her way to the door and without turning back she merely stated "I 
need a breath of fresh air." She stopped briefly and looked at her jacket 
hanging on a peg next to the door. She started to lift her hand and then 
changed her mind. Her back ached. It would only get in the way she 
thought. She left her jacket on the peg. 

He did not even look up as she opened the door and stepped out onto the 
porch. The porch was unlit. The stairs were painted white and if you kept 
tabs with your side vision you could just make out the steps. 

She looked up. It was still dark enough for stars to be seen. She walked 
carefully down the stairs holding the handrails. When she got to the bottom 
she stopped. The coldness of the morning caused her to cringe. Perhaps he 
should have put her jacket on. The men could wear pants but the women 
still had to wear their silly RCN skirt. 

She walked to the west of the building and looked carefully both ways. She 
knew for certain she was alone. Then she lifted her skirt, dropped her 


dainties and sat. The sound of her run sounded ghastly loud but she didn't 
care. They all did it, even the men. Her backside seemed pinched by the 
cold, but she didn't mind. The nearest amenity was just too far away across 
the field. 

As the course ran itself she thought of the message snippet she had 
purloined. It was not a military message. That she knew for certain. She 
was not tasked to intercept military messages. That was done down at 
Bainbridge in Washington States. The message was too short to be a 
diplomatic message. Ambassador Oshima was too verbose and sent long 
winded messages too often for even Station Point Grey to intercept. 

It was not doubt either a commercial or a scientific message. She did not 
know for certain, but she suspected the latter. In the back of her mind she 
also felt that it had something to do with chemistry. She just felt it. It was 
just a hunch, nothing more. 

After her run trickled to a stop, she stood and straightened things. High 
overhead she heard the sound of a single multi-engine airplane. She looked 
up again and wondered about her brother. 

He was with the RCAF flying, Lancasters and he had gone missing. Both 
her brother and his plane had disappeared on a raid over a target a short 
distance Northeast from Berlin. She had been told, unofficially mind you, 
that his raid had something to do with rockets and then told to forget what 
she had been told. 


As she walked back up the porch and into the building she thought to herself 
what she had in the way of a puzzle was like a crossword with only 
questions and no answers. She had nothing more really to base her 
assumption about the message than the feeling that it was too 
straightforward to be anything else other than chemistry. But how would 
she sort this assumption out? 

As she opened the door she was hit by a wave of dank hot air. It smelled of 
pipe tobacco. He was at it again. Three stack Tom they called him. His 
lighting of his pipe heralded the last hour of their watch. She closed the 
door behind her and peered out across the room. The fluorescent fixtures 
illuminated the pawl of smoke from above. It had a blue tinge that tracked 
all the way back to the duty officer at his desk. 

The other two Wrens looked up at her as she walked back to her desk. One 
motioned to the duty officer with her thumb and the other just rolled her 
eyes. They each took their turn . . . 

She understood. If she walked over and flirted with him, he would be forced 
to set down his awful pipe and pay her attention. She nodded back to the 
two and lifter her bust and straightened her skirt before walking over to the 
duty officer. 

As if he anticipated her visit he had already unclenched his teeth from his 
pipe and was lifting his hand to remove the dreadful thing from his mouth. 


She marched over to his desk and balanced herself at its edge. She knew 
with the other two present things would not get out of hand. 

Nonetheless, it was her turn to tease the ogre. She glanced at the clock out 
of the corner of her eye. 0320. Forty minutes to the end of the watch. She 
could feel his eyes measuring her up and down. He set his pipe down in the 
ash tray . . . and leered. His teeth with crooked and brown with age. His grin 
equally so. Just as he was about to speak to her, the soft static from her 
receiver was broken by a dot and a dash. 

Chopin was once again playing. She rushed across the room and lifted the 
earphones to her ears, flicking the switch from speaker to earphones and 
grabbing a new message form. She glanced back at the duty officer. His 
face was forlorn, like that of a jilted lover. 

She meekly smiled back at him, and proceeded to write the Kana groups 
onto the form as they poured forth from the earphones. As the piece of 
paper she had tucked away scratched across her skin, a thrill passed over her 
as she crouched over her receiver. 

Tell me more all your secrets . . . 

dot dot dash dot dot . . . TO 

dot dot dot ... RA 


Chapter 5 - A City With Too Many Iron Crosses 

It was nearly the end of his day and UN Lieutenant Takayoshi Suzuki, 
cipher clerk with the Japanese Embassy in Berlin, was annoyed they had 
brought him the second message. 

Ingrid had promised to meet him for dinner and he did not like to be late. 
He was a jealous type and she was pretty. He was short and stocky, with 
thick glasses that seemed to mock his ample face. She was tall and blonde 
and very Swedish. 

They had met at a reception at the Swedish Embassy earlier in the spring. 
They had not hit it off. In fact that evening she was surrounded by tall and 
dashing Germans. He, a small and insignificant Japanese functionary, could 
hardly compete with the legions of Iron Crosses and gold braid that had 
blinded the evening. 

He grew fascinated by her as the evening passed. There was something 
about her that intrigued him. Perhaps it was her aloofness, that smacked of 
a disdain for pretence. She seemed to walk from one group of guests to the 
next, able to join into their conversations with much ease. Perhaps it was 
that as he watched, she repeatedly turned away the cards of other men. 

As the evening wore on and both the conversation and company thinned out 
Suzuki found her somewhat susceptible and hospitable at the same time. He 


was driven by his primal urges to finally, near the end of the evening, 
mustered the courage to ask her to dance as the band began its final set. 

Takayoshi was surprised she had accepted when he had asked for a chance 
to dance with her. She was a full head taller than he was and his eyes came 
as high as the aquamarine brooch at the front of her dress. The pin was 
meant to distract the eye, but that was for a man of normal height. He was 
small and she was thin and elegant. They must have appeared a mismatch, if 
anyone had cared to stop and noticed, but this was the last set and everyone 
was trying their best to finish the champagne and forget the war. 

As he placed his hand on her hip and they waltzed together he could not help 
but admire her presence and her gracefulness. He looked up at her as she 
looked away into the distance. Her hair was a strawberry blonde and her 
eyes a piercing blue. She wore a soft aquamarine silk dress. 

Ingrid was a northern beauty in a land that admired the beauty of the North. 
There were no creases to the dress as she danced, and the silk flowed freely 
across her as she moved. She has a He was an Asian in world much 
removed from Asia. 

As they danced she began to move naturally in the cadence of his step. 
Midway through the dance she looked down and was much surprised with 
him. She had half expected disappointment from this short and short 
Japanese man, but she was not disappointed. He appeared stocky and 
misbalanced but it was his musical training that made him a fine dancer and 


she would admit it was his dancing that helped him stand out in the crowd 
that evening. 

As they danced she told him that she had trained for the ballet. He lied and 
told her he loved the ballet. But it worked and as the band ended their 
playing and began to pack their instruments she walked with him to the last 
of the champagne and talked for a few minutes as the others drifted away to 
their coats and home. She asked him for his card. 

A week later she called. They met several times for kirsche and coffee. 
They took to talking about a common love of the piano. Two weeks later 
she would admit to him that she fell in love with him the first time he played 
her several Nocturnes by Chopin. He had invited her to come for a visit in 
his apartment where he played from a baby grand piano that had come with 
the apartment proper. That night she stayed over and he got to know her 

It did not matter to him that he was married, and that did not matter to her 
either. He skipped telling the embassy security officer, a pompous army 
lieutenant named Iroku Suzuki, that he was spending time with a foreign 
national, and they were careful not to be seen together. But that was months 
ago and they were together, happy and comfortable. 

Suzuki glanced at the message form and his watch. If he hurried he might 
just make his trist. 


He started ... dot dash ... pause. The response came back almost 
immediately dash dot. 

He began the body of the message. 

dot dot dash dot dot . . . TO 

dot dot dot ... RA 

In a slow and measured way he continued slowing the cadence of the 
message when he came upon portions that were mostly numbers. In twenty 
minutes the message was sent and the acknowledgement received by him 
from Tokyo. Then he signed off and set the earphones down in front of the 
state of the art high powered Telefunken Radio transmitter. 

Then he stood and the last thing he did as he handed over his seat to his 
replacement was he signed the two sheets with the sending time and with his 
moniker and handed them to him to be filed. 

He gathered up his coat and things and made for the stairs down to the lobby 
of the Japanese Embassy in Berlin. For a Thursday the lobby was empty of 
all except the usual faces. As he signed the registry, he glanced again at his 
watch. It was nearly 1800. Knowing Ingrid she would probably be waiting 
for him. 


The allies bombed Berlin again last night, the third time this week and the 
trams were once again out of commission. If he walked briskly he might just 
make their half past six rendezvous. 

As he pushed open the large brass doors and stepped into the street he 
smelled burning wood. It was cold and grey. The sky was both darmk and 
overcast. Spotlights were already training across the sky, harbingers of 
another night of bombs, noise, explosions and death. 

The street was all but deserted except for the soldiers manning the 88 
millimetre flak guns. He was familiar to them as they were to him and they 
ignored each other. 

He started to walk briskly up the street. He had gotten use to many things in 
the past few years of war, but he was jealous, she was beautiful and Berlin 
was a city with too many iron crosses, too much gold braid and too many 
hungry men. 

Lieutenant Takayoshi Suzuki was hungry too ! 


Chapter 6 - He Felt Secure In His Fate 

When it first dawned on him he was going to die Flight Officer Robert Ross 
RCAF had panicked, the same way he use to panic when as a little boy he 
would race his younger sister Susan up a tree behind their home in Kitsilano 
in Vancouver, climbing frantically fast until he teetered at the edge. 

To get her to play, he would always help her up to the first branch than lift 
himself up next. Having snared her into his game, he would then leave his 
younger sister behind and climb to the top, or as near as he could get to the 
top. From near the top of the tallest tree in their back yard he could see clear 
across English Bay to the North Shore Mountains and the Lions. 

Then Robert would look down and realize his foolishness as his younger 
sister Susan peered up at him from near the bottom of the tree with fear and 
concern written all over her face. She knew not to say anything if only not to 
distract him or to worry him needlessly. She knew he would be worried 
enough. It would take him the most of his skill to climb down from his lofty 
perch without plummeting to the ground below. 

Then it would be their secret. They wouldn't tell their proper and worrisome 
mother of their risky adventures otherwise she would banish them from the 
out doors and sit them down inside, in their parlour before a thick, musky 
and boring old book. 


He wondered how things were with his sister and her Marconi back home in 
Vancouver. His Marconi was dead and he had no way to communicate with 
the outside world. This night, on his way back from bombing the rocket test 
site at Peenemunde he felt the same way as he climbed down the tree. 

The electrics on his Lancaster had been shot up by the nightfighter that had 
blasted the large four engine bomber into wee little bits. The nightfighter 
had positioned itself beneath his bomber and blasted it with its "Schrage 
Musik" twin mount 20 mm cannons directed upwards at the wing roots. The 
first and last thing they knew they were in grave danger was the two second 
burst of cannon fire and then all hell broke loose. 

Moments before they had been on the final run-in to their target. The 
bombardier navigator on his Lancaster was concentrating hard on the PPI 
indicator of the H2S radar, while tweaking the Gee receiver to get a hyper- 
accurate fix. 

As the glow of the coastline lined up with the celluloid target inlay Robert 
had opened the bomb bay doors and set the Lane over to navigator control. 
At his control table the navigator had a set of rotary switches that allowed 
him to gently turn the lumbering Lancaster bomb a few degrees either port 
or starboard using the aileron trim to line up on the target. On the run in to 
their target the altitude was fixed and steady. 

Unfortunately what was good for the goose was good for the fox chasing 
after the goose. Just as the bombs were released that's when the fox got 


them. Had the night fighter, pounced on them a few seconds before then his 
plane and crew and him as well would have been blown to pieces. 

When the cannon shell found their mark, the electrics went out and every 
light, indicator and instrument in the cockpit went dead except the air speed 
indicator. The cannon fire had destroyed the main electrical switchbox and 
bus. What bad luck! At least he knew his air speed. 

The nightfighter had attacked them from below, knocking out the two inner 
Merlins and puncturing the main fuel tank. But at least it had not broken the 
spar of the wing. If it had the aircraft would have folded in two and none of 
them would have made it out alive. The Lane he flew had been made in 
Canada and the Avro engineers in Malton Ontario had wisely reinforced the 
main spar. Thank God for Canadian pragmatism! If this had been an 
English built Lane they all would have died hours back. 

As he flew on he had no way of knowing his height, nor the slow rate at 
which his sturdy aircraft was falling out of the sky. He had only his watch to 
mark the passage of time, and dead reckoning to estimate how much longer 
he could keep the beast alive and in the air. 

There were only the stars above for reference. He had Polaris a bit on his 
right. From that he knew he was flying northwest across the Baltic in the 
direction of Sweden. But it was a moonless night and there was nothing to 
be seen below except a carpet of grey clouds that went to the horizon in all 
directions and the warm glow from the manifolds of the two still functioning 


His damaged Lancaster bomber swayed like a smashed drunkard in a slow 
and languished trod. It was like the swell of the tide on a little boat in 
English Bay back home. He swallowed . . . this is no time to get seasick. 

He loosened his hands on the yoke. They were getting numb with the 
intensity of his grip and with the intense cold. Look at the bright side, he 
thought. The grey clouds at the horizon helped him keep the Lancaster 

The dull roar of the two lean but still healthy Merlins was music to his ears. 
He reached down without looking and poked the two live throttles a bit 
forward and watched the airspeed indicator creep a bit higher. That might 
buy him an extra few minutes and perhaps a dozen desperately needed 
nautical miles. He reckoned he might, with much luck, make it to the coast 
but not much further. 

As the aircraft swayed back and forth he felt very much alone. Soon after 
the attack, when it became clear their aircraft was doomed, as captain of the 
aircraft, he ordered his men to the silk. He couldn't risk the mad dash for 
the hatch and a plummet into the night. Without an autopilot he, not George, 
had to fly the aircraft down. Without his steady hand at the yoke his Lane 
would drop like a stone and he would die within its metal coffin. 

Robert would have to endure the slow and agonizingly demise to its 
inevitable crash . . . 


It was lucky they were on their return leg from the target when the attack 
happened. They had an empty bomb bay and he the skill to feather the props 
of the two now dead Merlin engines, balance the thrust with the remaining 
outer pair and escape a fiery explosion as the now empty tanks were peeled 
open by their speed through the air like cans of bully beef. 

The lean fuel to air mix in the main tank did not catch fire nor explode - the 
Lindemann effect as they were taught in flight school - where a lean mix of 
air and fuel was as lethal as a rich one. Perhaps it was the ice in the cold 
Baltic winter air that had saved them from instant incineration. Perhaps it 
was just plain good luck. 

But the nightfighter had managed in the space of mere seconds to mortally 
wound his aircraft, but miraculously without harming a single member of its 
crew. Now that was skill! There was no warning, just a few seconds of 
menacing tracers, angle upwards towards their aircraft. And then the attack 
was over and the men scrambled out of their now stricken aircraft and into 
the darkness of the enemy hands below. 

When the intercom went the crew gathered near the cockpit to get their final 
orders. Robert was elated they were all safe. "Time to hit the silk ... God 
speed .. and good luck!" he had yelled to them over the noise of the 
airstream as they in turn yelled back, wished him luck. Then one after the 
other they bailed. They had all gotten out. 

His crew would be saved while he would be lost. But that's what Captains 
do .... Then instead of continuing to fly west he turned his aircraft North. 


As his Lancaster flew on, with each passing minute he grew more and more 
calm. It was the same calm he felt the closer he got to the base of the tree 
when he was climbing down. Above the noise he could almost imagine his 
sister's encouraging voice . . . "you can make it Paul . . . almost there." Then 
she would hug him like there was not tomorrow. I guess that day wasn't his 
day to meet Saint Peter. 

But today was different. He wasn't climbing down from a tree. He was 
slowly getting closer and closer to the low clouds below. They were at 
perhaps three thousand feet over the Baltic and he was on his return from 
dropping bombs and killing the enemy. Maybe this was God's settling of 

He knew he was going to die, but it was wartime. Young men die in war. 
Good men and bad alike, and at twenty two he was just a man. 

He felt alone. Very alone. But he felt secure in his fate. At least his crew 
would be alive to tell their story. 

He looked up and started to count the lucky stars. By his estimation he 
would be near saving in perhaps twenty minutes. He did not know how 
much precious fuel he had left. When the motors started to cough their last 
then he knew he would wait his fate. 

Then he would have to ditch the plane in the sea and scramble for his life. If 
he survived the crash mind you and the plane didn't sink too fast. And he 


could squeeze out of the smashed cockpit . . . and if he could find the life raft 
and take it with him. 

If . . . if . . . if . . . as he climbed down just take one branch at a time he thought 
and he'll make it down the tree. 

It was a few long minutes before the starboard engine coughed . . . then the 
port and he began to drop through the clouds at the same instance. He 
counted the seconds . . . seven, eight nine . . . then broke through the clouds. 
Then a miracle. 

Out of the corner of his eye and off to port he saw it. A small light perhaps 
1,000 yards away flashed at the horizon. A candle in the window perhaps? 
That must be Sweden he thought as he carefully banked his aircraft towards 
the flickering light. As he levelled out the starboard engine coughed and 
died. If it had been the port one he would have stalled and crashed right 
there, cart wheeling into the sea. 

For another few seconds the port engine continued coughing. Maybe it was 
the bank that allowed gravity to feed that engine a few precious seconds 
longer. Then it too died. 

He pushed the two props into feather with his right hand without looking 
down at the controls and focused his eyes on the faint light at the horizon, 
trying his best to keep the wings of the mighty beast level. If he took his eye 
off the light it was curtains ! 


Out of the corner of his eye he could swear he could sense the water below. 
The sea was darker than the sky. Then a bit ahead and below him a crease 
of white where the ocean and land met. He braced as the machine met up 
first with water, then the surf and then soft sand and skidded across the hard 
land on its belly. 

He covered his head and face with his arms as the frangible canopy took up 
the impact and shattered. Then there was the noise that would wake even 
the dead and bring the curious. The beast skidded on and on but thankfully 
neither turned or flipped. Then his trusty oF Lane skidded sideways and 
came to a rest parallel to the edge of the white surf. It had all happened so 
fast. Maybe four or five seconds then near total silence. 

He punched out of his harness and then scrambled out of his seat. In the 
dark he fumbled around the turmoil of the now unfamiliar wreck of what 
once was the flight deck and grabbed the fire axe. Turning back to his seat 
he stood up on it and began to frantically hack the last part of the canopy 
frame to give him enough spacefor him to squeeze out of the cockpit of his 
now dead aircraft. 

Thankfully the tanks on his aircraft were bone dry and no fire had started. 
Since the electrics were shot to pieces he hadn't even felt the need to pull the 

Then he was clear of the cockpit and pulled his little flashlight out of his 
flying suit to light his way, walking carefully along the now crumpled spine 
of his aircraft. Then he jumped down to the port wing and stepped 


cautiously along the wing itself. He stood and surveyed the wreck. There 
were giant holes clear through the wing where the tracers had punched 
through. He stopped counting at twenty. It's a wonder the oF beast stayed 

The wing tip was on land but the rest of the aircraft was half in water and 
half in surf, and he didn't much fancy getting his feet wet. As he walked 
past the two Merlin nacelles he could not help but admire their rugged 
construction and magical properties. They had brought him to safety and 
lived up to their name. He smiled. Maybe the Swedes will salvage them 
and bring them back to life, a second life. 

For him, however, Sweden meant safety but it also meant internment. He 
will have to sit out the duration, but at least that fate will be as a guest and 
not as a prisoner. 

By the time he had clambered to the wing tip the first Swede, woken in the 
middle of their sleep by the god awful noise of his crash, were making their 
way down to the beach. 

The old fisherman and his teenage daughter had approached him carefully 
until they realized he was not German. Then they had welcomed him with 
open arms, each hugging him with a genuine friendliness and caring that 
warmed his heart. 

He followed them up the beach to their little house, where the wife was 
waiting at work in the kitchen boiling kettles of water from which they 


poured him a hot bath and afterwards they served him a simple meal of 
pickled herring and rye crisps with real butter and jam. The teenage 
daughter could speak broken English and translated for her parents. 

The following morning at the crack of dawn when the Swedish Air Force 
came to collect him, they found him fast asleep in a warm bed. 

When the Swedish Major woke him he was met with his warm smile and 
perfect English ... "I understand you come from Canada . . .". 

He nodded as he rubbed his eyes and forced himself to wake. It was then 
that he first saw the teenage daughter curled up in a comforter in a chair on 
the other side of the room. He realized then that they had given him her bed 
and she had kept watch over him while her mother slept in the room next 
door and her father went to alert the Swedish authorities. 

The Major continued, "my apologies for waking you so early. I have been 
sent to collect you. . . You are under my authority by the terms of the Hague 
and Geneva conventions and protected by the King of Sweden. You must 
come with me." 

The major paused and looked over at the daughter. . . "but first what say we 
have breakfast." She nodded in agreement and stood turning her back and 
letting her comforter drop. 

It was only then that both men realized that her dress and dainties lay in a 
pile at the base of the chair. Her long blonde hair went as far as the base of 


her spine, and despite the rawness of the moment, it seemed fitting in its 
calm familiarity. She unhurriedly gathered her things and dressed herself. 
She was perhaps at most eighteen and supremely confident in herself. 

As he watched her dress he thought well, Sweden might not be all that bad 
after all. 

When she had gathered herself up and left the room, then it was his turn to 
get up out of his warm bed and get dressed. The major had collected up and 
searched his clothes. 

The major gave him his clothes one by one, but first taking hold of the pistol 
that he carried with his flying jacket. "You won't be needing this!" is all he 
said as he slipped the pistol into his jacket pocket. "I shall return your 
documents later." 

When he was dressed and ready to go down to breakfast the major smiled 
another of his toothy smiles and extended his hand in friendship. 

"Welcome to Sweden." 


Chapter 7 - What Winston Asked for ... Winston Got 

Commander Denniston RN acknowledged with a simple nod the salute of 
the sentry guarding the special entry to his Berkeley street offices. The 
sentry was dressed in civilian clothes but that really did not fool anyone. The 
master of British code and cipher breakers rarely entered his office so early 
in the day but the telephone caller had told him the latest decrypts from the 
C (Commercial) - Circuit monitored by Station Point Grey would be on his 
desk by 0430. 

The staff at the Diplomatic and Special Intelligence Division of MI6 were 
surprised to see their boss arrive so early in the morning. When he entered 
the main room those few that were smoking cigarettes quickly put them out. 
The boss loathed smoking. He knew to smile to set their minds at rest. This 
early in the morning he didn't see to mind. They smiled back, for they 
knew, that only something very important would get him out of bed and in 
so early on a Sunday morning. The next watch were not due for another 90 

Denniston was worst for wear this morning having spent last night at 
Checkers, the country home of his boss, the PM. Churchill wanted an 
update and what Winston asked for . . . Winston got. It was that simple. 

The allies had landed in Normandy some weeks back and the Japanese were 
scrambling to keep their sub-surface life line with their Nazis allies pen. 
The Yanagi, or Willow supply line of secret submarine missions that send 


advanced technology from the Germans to the Japanese, and gold, precious 
metals and other raw materials from Japan to Germany in return. 

What brought him in so early this Sunday morning was the latest message 
regarding Japanese submarine 1-52, the MOMI, inbound to Europe from 
Japan carrying a shipment of Gold and other precious metals. The Japanese 
loved to give their instruments of war non-warlike names. MOMI meant Fir 
or Evergreen. They ought to have called her the harbinger of death instead! 

1-52 was the largest active submarine of the war. A C3, it was 108.5 metres 
long, with a beam of 9.3 metres and a draught of 5.12 metres and a 
displacement while fully loaded and submerged of 3,644 metric tons. 

Denniston knew the sub's particulars by heart. It had a top speed of 17.5 
knots while surfaced in calm seas, and 6.5 knots while submerged. But what 
caught his eye was the subs incredible range, 21,000 nautical miles, without 
refuelling! That was half-way around the world. The damned thing was 
meant for one purpose and one purpose only, to act as a sub-surface delivery 
truck to and from Europe. It had built within her 290 tons of cargo capacity, 
which was nearly 10 % of its dry weight. 

When 1-52 left for its long journey her cargo included 120 tons of tin ingots, 
59.8 tons of raw rubber, 10 tons of tungsten, 9.8 tons of molybdenum, 3.3 
tons of quinine, 3 tons of opium and 2.2 tons of gold. Ironically, in time of 
war the gold was the least valuable of cargos on the Momi. They gold bars 
were meant to pay for the technology transfer then underway between 
Germany and Japan. 


On this voyage, its third to and from Europe, it was enroute to the naval Port 
of Lorient in occupied France and had aboard it an extra compliment of 18 
Japanese civilian engineers, technicians and diplomatic staff. 

Denniston sat at his desk as he read the latest decrypt: 

«From: Berlin (Cmbrk) #710 Parts 1-11 complete 22 June 1944 

To : Tokyo (Rikugunsyo Gunmykyokutyo) Chief, Military Affairs 
Bureau, War Office) 

Committee wire #600. 
Answer to your wire #5 3 6a. 

1. The German Navy has recently taken under consideration plans for 
loading the MOMI with airplane parts. Here in Germany we have 
presented to the Navy our list of #4, and we would like to have you 
open the negotiations suggested in your wire and send us instructions. 

2. The freight hold of the MOMI will take about 35 tons (The MATSU 
held 35 tons.) In your negotiations regarding the loading of this craft, 
we would like to have you stress "(a)" of #4. On the MATSU the Army 
had an allotment of only 4.7 tons (the former wire was wrong). 
Therefore we would like to have you work to obtain an assignment of 
at least 14 to 15 tons. 


3. Along with your negotiations, we here will contact the Naval 
Authorities regarding the order of importance of this freight, please 
inform us. 

4. Our proposed order of loading (emergency order of loading) 
(A) Articles to be placed in the tube compartment. 

(1) Documents and drawings (urgent articles) 500 kilograms. 

(2) Two each of the 103 and 108 types of 30 mm. machine guns for use 
on planes, 1,000 kilograms. 

(3) Two sets of the Lotofe 7 "D" bomb sight 180 kilograms. 

(4) "FUG" "25" type of wireless plotting device (five sets), "101" (ten 
sets), "213" (two sets) 900 kilograms. 

(5) Wireless condenser ("0"?) 1200 kilograms. 

(6) Vacuum tubes for wireless 520 kilograms. 

(7) Luminous paint and luminous materials 200 kilograms. 

(8) Parts for electric fuses for use in aerial machine-guns. (Enough for 
50,000 rounds) 70 kilograms. 

(9) Atabrine. 1,000 kilograms. 

(10) Hemoglobin and coloring matter 60 kilograms. 

(1 1) Balsam 120 kilograms. 

(12) Sparkplugs and electric generators 1,350 kilograms. 

(13) Uranium oxide 500 kilograms. 

(14) Steel balls and precision steel balls, 470 kilograms. 

(15) Lithium chloride 500 kilograms. 

(16) One 20 mm. machine-cannon type "151" (electric action) for 
mounting on planes 500 kilograms. 


(17) Fifteen sets of "Wiserzburg" type electric transformer apparatus 
(but we are not including those designated "RO" 3,000 kilograms. 

(18) Bosch jet nozzle and pipe for use in motors 3,400 kilograms. 

(19) "B"2 type of (enclosed?) speedometer 470 kilograms. 

(20) Tool used in making machine guns from "Rheinmetal" 20 

(21) Industrial micro-measuring instrument 4 kilograms. 

(22) Drawings for all the above, etc. 150 kilograms. 

(23) Insulating material "Tororitsuto"b 1200 kilograms. 

(24) Two sets of all wave receivers 40 kilograms. 

(25) Hobbing tool for gears 3 kilograms. 

(26) Iron cartridge case (rolling machine?) 1450 kilograms. 

(27) Bosch jet and pile for use in motors 3290 kilograms. 
Total for the above 20, 597 kilograms. 

(B) Beside the items given under (A), above we have some things of 
large dimensions and we are planning to construct a water-tight 
compartment on deck (The Navy is now making plans for this). 

(1) The weight of the Wurzberg type electric transformer apparatus 
(other then that given under (A) above) is not known. 

(2) The "Jumo" 213 "A" type aviation motor 1700 kilograms. 

(3) One set of high-angle fire control apparatus (with remote control) 
227 (0?) kilograms. 

(C) Things to be stored in keel compartment (articles immersed in sea- 


As there is considerable room in this section of this ship we are 
negotiating here and have reached an agreement that the Army should 
receive a space allotment of from 5 to 6 tons. However because of the 
specific gravity, we can stow a considerable quantity of optical glass 
only. So please negotiate for space for storing this glass. When the 
allotment of weight has been decided upon please inform us. 

(1) Optical glass 26 tons. 

(2) Special steel for use in airplanes 500 tons. 

(3) A large amount of aluminium. 
5. Ammunition. 

As the magazine is small it will be difficult to take more than will 
actually be needed for the protection of the ship so please understand 
that we are loading as small an amount as possible. We would like to 
stow part of the ammunition and weapons in the torpedo compartment: 

(1) For experimental use in the 103 and 108 type 30 mm. machine-gun 
to be used in planes. 61,500 rounds, 2100 kilograms. "» 

Denniston respected his adversary. The message was tightly written and to 
the point. 

With the growing success of the Normandy Invasion Churchill felt it would 
be a matter of mere weeks before Lorient was back in Allied hands and that 
Yanagi route closed for good. 


He also felt that the German's understood this and might add something 
special to the cargo of I-52's return trip. That's what Winston wanted to talk 
with him about last night at Checkers. 

Item 13 caught his eye: 500 kg of Uranium Oxide. He would have to track 
that item. And the Lithium Chloride? 

In a prior message the Japanese naval attache in Berlin, Rear Admiral 
Kojima Hideo, had signalled 1-52 that on 6 June 1944 the Allies had landed 
in Normandy, and that the port of Lorient was no longer a safe destination. 

1-52 was ordered diverted to U-Boat facility at Bergen Norway, and was also 
instructed to rendezvous with a German submarine on 22 June 1944 at 21: 15 
(GMT) at the co-ordinates 15°N 40°W / 15°N 40°W. 1-52 responded with 
her current position, 35°N 23°W / 35°N 23°W. 

This was the messages from the Naval attache to 1-52 were intercepted at 
Station Point Grey, forwarded as "Priority Intercepts" and decoded both at 
Arlington Hall and Bletchley. 

If only they knew what he and his colleagues had in store for the MOMI. A 
dedicated air carrier group was sailing to intercept her. And aboard they had 
a special treat in store. 

Denniston picked up the green phone on his desk and pressed button 13. 
There was only a single ring before the receiver at the other end was picked 


"Max Here!" 

Although he knew the voice at the other end it was his practice to ask. 
"Denniston here. Is that you Horton?" Although Denniston knew Max 
Horton, Director of Western Approaches as an old and respected friend he 
like teasing him if only to elicit one of his world famous responses. 

"No it's the bloody tooth fairy. Who else would be sitting in his office at 
this ungodly hour?" 

"Just us gnomes . . . Max. Is the mousetrap set?" 

"Yes the boogeyman is on the trail. Its just a matter of time. I will call you 
back with any updates when they come available." 

"Thanks Max . . . both Pooh and I are standing by." 

Not much of a cover . . . Winnie the Pooh. But they played along if only to 
amuse Winston. 

There was a barely audible grunt them the receiver went dead. 

It was only a matter of time before Task Force 5 1 built up around the escort 
carrier USS Bogue - the Boogeyman - caught up with their mouse, the 


On the night of 22 June 1944 1-52 was scheduled to rendezvous about 1,574 
km west of the Cape Verde off the coast of Africa, with U-530 which meant 
they will be on the surface with the U-Boat provided the Momi with fuel. 

The surface rendezvous between 1-52 and U-530 would also involve the 
transfer of a Naoxs FuMB 7 radar detector, and an Enigma coding machine, 
along with two radar operators, and German liaison officer for the trip 
through the Bay of Biscay. 

Denniston knew that with a little luck and good coordination the Boogeyman 
would arrive and dispatch both submarines. 

If the two subs submerged new sonar buoys developed at Harvard awaited 
them as well as a brand new and super-secret acoustic homing torpedo nick 
named FIDO and developed expressly for this type of work by the Boffins at 
the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. 

Denniston looked at his watch. It was just a matter of time . . . and time was 
running out for the Momi and its crew. Denniston placed the folder in the 
top drawer of his desk and locked it. He had just enough time to dash up the 
street for breakfast before the watch changed and the day began in earnest. 

Sunday breakfast was always a treat. This Sunday morning it would no 
doubt taste even better. And it wouldn't be the fresh eggs . . . 


Chapter 8 - Halloween was their Favourite Time of Year 

He was damned he was tired. Tired of the flying, tired of the war. They had 
practiced the run onto the target many times before during light fleet carrier 
training operations off Norfolk that he could do it in his sleep. 

As he flicked the switch to start the wire recorder, he thought ... it was just 
another day at the office. First find the target with radar, then illuminate it 
with a parachute flare. The bright magnesium flare, at two metres in length 
- the largest they could carry - hung on its parachute, lazily drifting down 
from 500 metres, illuminated the dark night with millions of candles of light. 

And then, on their next pass over the submarine, to drop as near the target as 
possible, the two depth charges they carried, one under either wing. And if 
that didn't work, then to begin a search pattern use both of their new secret 
weapons, to dispatch the target. 

This night though, this was not a practice run, and they were not carrying 
practice bombs! This was the real thing and USN pilot Jessie Taylor had the 
enemy in their sights. And what a target! 

Illuminated by the bright flare, fleet submarine 1-52 of the Imperial Japanese 
Navy stood out on the grey ocean. It was the biggest submarine he had 
ever seen. A goliath, as long as the escort carrier he had just flown off of. 
And they had caught her on the surface, recharging her batteries, right where 
fleet operations told them they would be. 


The submarine's diesels probably masked the sound of the approaching 
aircraft right until the moment their flare light up the night sky and set their 
prey scurrying into the deep. 

On his first pass, Taylor flew so close to 1-52 that he could make out the 
little round oriental glasses and moustache on the watch officer that 
frantically pointed at his aircraft as he flew over. 

On their first run in, Taylor's two depth charges had bracket the sub as she 
pulled the plug and began her emergency dive. He watched as the wall of 
water fell back over the conning tower, drenching the little man and sending 
him scuttling down the hatch. 

Taylor banked his aircraft tightly to starboard and quickly doubled back. On 
his second attack run things didn't go smoothly. 

In his haste he hadn't switch his select switch over from depth charges to 
torpedo and so when he pickled the weapon release button ... nothing 
happened! By the time he realized what he had done, he was outside the 
effective range of their new secret torpedo. 

At 0420 Zulu, flying low over the south Atlantic, he was more tired than he 
realized. He had sat on standby in the cockpit of his Avenger for well near 
an hour before they were set off in search of their prey. Sitting always made 
him tired and he had now been sitting in his cramped and cockpit since 


0245. But the adrenaline how now kicked in. The waiting was definitely 

Even as the last remnants of the two giants plums of water fell back over the 
submarine, the conning tower of 1-52 was already awash and her stern began 
to slip beneath the waves. All that marked the spot was a trail of foamy sea 
from the sub's prop wash, and a growing circle of disturbed water. 

And so began the battle of wits. Taylor banked his plane back over the 
target and on his third run deployed the first of four of his new search buoys. 
He glanced back towards his starboard wing and pickled the first of four 
colour coded switches dropping a sonar buoy about 1000 metres short of the 
centre of the search pattern. 

"Green away" he quirped into his mike. "Roger". The reply came from his 

This was the first time this new secret search instrument from M.I.T. had 
been deployed at sea during Antisubmarine Warfare, or ASW as they called 
it. It was a battery powered buoy with a very sensitive microphone under it 
at the end of a long lead that transmitted the ocean noises it was picking up 
to the receiving aircraft circling above. 

He flew over the centre of the search pattern marking the point that 1-52 
submerged. Another 1000 metres past the centre he pickled the next switch 
and a second of the new sonar buoys fell away. "Red away." His voice was 
excited but professional. 


Taylor banked his aircraft sharply to starboard and flew to complete the 
cross, now flying once again towards the point where 1-52 submerged. 

A distance of 1000 metres north of the centre of their search patter he 
dropped a third sonar buoy and once past the centre, a 1000 metres south of 
the centre away he set the fourth of the sonar buoys. Where each buoy now 
floated a plum of coloured smoke illuminated by the flare marked an almost 
perfect cross. They had marked a box 2 kilometres by 2 kilometres and their 
prey was somewhere within. 

Taylor smiled. Try to run and hide!, he thought. His weapons officer came 
on over the plane's intercom. "Screw noises . . . skip." 

Taylor responded crisply, "pipe them over the intercom." 

His headphone came alive with the sound of the ocean. And there it was! 
The slow swish of cavitation of the twin screws of the submarine. "Ok 
spooks . . . Guide us in." 

His weapons officer Taylor called "spooks". What his weapons officer was 
able to do with his technology flew over Taylor's head and gave him the 
spooks. It didn't envy the poor sardines in the tin can below. 

In the back seat, his weapons officer was concentrating on the squiggles of 
lines that traced across his ASW oscilloscope. "She has swung north by 
east. Depth 120 metres. Rate of decent 100 metres per minute." 


Taylor did a mental calculation of where the submarine would be in thirty 
seconds and banked his aircraft to a point 250 metres shy of that point and 
descended down to 120 metres. He would release their new secret weapon 
at the equidistant point immediately astern of and inline with the diving 
submarine. "Thirty seconds to release. Count her out". 

"Switch ... skip." 

"Ya!" He didn't need to be reminded and flicked the MARK 24 switch to 

"Twenty five." 

Taylor concentrated for a point in the ocean ahead. The illumination flare 
had begun to flicker. "We sill do a radar guided approach" 

"Rog . . . twenty seconds." 

The flare went out. Blast! He was now night bound and night blind. 
"Drifting to port." 

He could not make out his instruments. Taylor gently banked the aircraft to 

"On track . . . fifteen seconds." 


His night vision was coming back. Taylor concentrated on keeping the 
plane level and at a fixed altitude. 

"Doing fine skip. Ten seconds." 

They say when you wait for a kettle to boil, time stands still. Taylor started 
to count out the seconds to himself: Nine buffalo . . . eight buffalo . . . seven 

"On track. Target depth 200 metres, course zero six zero true." 
Taylor clicked his mike button" 
"Standby . . . Three . . . two . . . one release!" 

Taylor flicked the release switch and his second secret weapon, a new Mark 
24 FIDO homing ASW torpedo fell away from under his starboard wing. 
The plane waddled a bit with the imbalance. Taylor righted the aircraft. 

The Mark 24 was the product of the best minds at Harvard. This passive 
homing torpedo lived up to its name. Like a dog . . . FIDO unerringly always 
seemed to find its prey. 

The MARK 24 fell cleanly away from his aircraft at the end of a large 
parachute, which gently opened and set the weapon smoothly into the ocean. 


Then it was gone, leaving the parachute to billow over the ocean surface and 
mark its point of entry. Spot on. 

The moment it touched water the MARK 24 started to active itself, like a 
hound dog in search of its quarry. 

"Skip . . . torpedo in the water." 

He clicked his mike again. 

Taylor banked his aircraft into a slow turn to the right. While he doubled 
back over his quarry he climbed his aircraft back up to loitering altitude. 
When he was at altitude he steadier up on 060 true and throttled back to 
loiter speed. 

FIDO had a limited range of 4 nautical miles. It was now a waiting game. 
As he passed over where he thought was the point of entry he released 
another illumination flare. 

Over his earphones he could hear the slow and low cavitation of the twin 
screws of the Japanese Sub, and the higher pitched sound of their homing 

The flare came to life just as they passed over the billowed parachute. 
Then a loud explosion. Spooks began to cheer. 



FIDO had a contact detonator and evidently it had contacted something. But 
had the sunk the goliath? The explosion seemed to reverberate forever. The 
torpedo only had a small warhead. He flew on for another minute before 
banking over his target. 

As they passed a second time over the area, the sea had settled down and the 
sound of only one screw could be heard over his earphones. Their first 
MARK 24 had taken out one screw. That left the other one. The slow and 
laboured cavitation of the remaining screw had a more pronounced gurgle to 
it. Odds are the second screw on 1-52 had been damaged or bent during the 
first attack. 

Taylor smiled. That was like leaving a bone out for a hound dog. 
"Commencing a second run on target." 

"Roger. Two miles dead ahead. Best I can make out is depth around 150 

"Two miles ... 150 metres. Roger will do visual." 

The second time around was hardly as dramatic compared to the first run in. 
Just like the first torpedo, their second MARK 24, the last of pair aboard 
their aircraft, worked perfectly. 


Ninety seconds after it entered the water there was a second contact 
explosion and the sonar buoys began to pick up the sounds of 1-52 going to 
the bottom. 

The noise sounded like a runaway freight highlighted by the popping of the 
water tight compartments. 

Un expectedly there was a giant explosion. "What the hell was that?" 
Spooks was yelling into the microphone. 

"Easy boy ..." Taylor was annoyed having someone yell into his ears. 

His weapons officer calmed down and then asked "skip . . . what was that 
second explosion?" 

"It sounds like some of her torpedoes just blew. It's known to happen when 
the bulkheads go. The torpedoes have both contact and magnetic 

Then silence, and after a few second there was a dull thud as it hit bottom. 
"Skip .. I think we got her!" 

"Yup ... I think we did." His voice was business like and near emotionless. 

Neither Spooks nor Taylor gave any thought to the fact they had just killed a 
hundred men. In fact the men aboard the Bogue never gave it a second 


They had already sunk nine U-boats in the Atlantic during the first year of 
operations. The men in the subs they were sinking were all volunteers like 
themselves. They were also their enemy and their enemies was making war 
with the rest of the world. 

Taylor and Spooks were professionals doing a job, pure and simple, and the 
Japanese sailors aboard 1-52, just like the Germans sailors aboard the U- 
boats they had sunk, deserved their fate. If they had wanted to live a long 
and boring life these sailors should have never set sail from Kure in Japan 
for St. Lorient in France. 

Besides, he wanted to avenge Japan's attack on Pearl Harbour more than he 
wished to admit. He lost a family friend on the Arizona on December 7 th , 
1941 and the Imperial Japanese Navy had made it personal. It was for 
perhaps this reason that the Captain of the Bogue, Captain Aurelius B. 
Vosseller, had assigned the first crack at the Momi to Jessie and his aircraft. 
If Taylor had failed the chase and sinking would be left to others. 

Taylor did not let Captain Vosseller and his ship USS Bogue down. Taylor 
flicked off the wire recorder and flicked the radio switch to send, breaking 
radio silence. "Boogey Man . . . Boogey Man . . .This is Caspar . . . Over" 

Immediately the response came back five by five. "Boogey Man here, over." 

"Boogey Man . . . Caspar here. Halloween . . . repeat . . . Halloween, over." 


For the crew of the USS Bogue Halloween was their favourite time of year 
and it had come more than once in the past eight months. Ya, Flight Officer 
Jessie Taylor thought ... it wasn't much of a code "Hallow + even" which 
obviously meant that "we've done it". 

But hell, you can't really hide an air carrier group of six ships from the 
enemy once you sail into a region and begin to drop bright flares and launch 
live torpedoes. The German sub the Momi had rendezvoused with in the 
Atlantic was still out there. It had without question heard the explosions and 
understood that it meant the demise of the 1-52. That German submarine, U- 
530, might be the next day's hunting, but that was not Jessie Taylor's 

"Roger Caspar ... understand Halloween. Vector north, seven zero, out." 
He banked his Avenger to port, throttled back and steadied her onto a course 
of North. 

Taylor smiled and imagined the elation back in the Operations room aboard 
ship. But this time it was special. This was not their first kill of an enemy 
submarine, but the first time he had sent a Japanese submarine to the bottom. 
It felt good to get them back for Pearl Harbour. 

It was the middle of the night and he was exhausted. Jessie Taylor pulled a 
cigar out from a pocket of his Mae Vest and stuck it boldy into his mouth. 
Yea, he was breaking every rule in the book but hell he earned the cigar. 


Digging out his Zippo lighter he flicked it open with bravado and lit his 
stogie. His cockpit filled with smoke. 

"Skip ... I think we're on fire. I smell smoke ..." 

Taylor took a few puffs from his cigar before answering. "Spooks ... its just 
me and me stogie." 

He edged the canopy back a bit to let some air circulate in the cockpit. The 
cold South Atlantic air was refreshing. They should be back aboard the 
Bogue in twenty minutes ... then feted as conquering heroes! After that 
some breakfast, a bath and a long rest . . . 

The standing order on Boogey Man was you sink a sub and get shore leave. 
Their success tonight on the 24 th of June, 1944 had bought them a week's 
leave back in the States. 

As he flew north all he could think about was that he was damned tired and 
very happy. 


Chapter 9 - Lunch Would be Nice. 

Already a dozen times this morning the stillness of the city had been 
shattered by the explosions of V-l doodlebug here there and throughout the 
metropolis. Yesterday all day there had been more than forty explosions. 

The penultimate one had crashed just a few miles to the east. But all the rest 
were falling at a greater distance away from the heart of the city. J.C. 
Masterman's Double Cross the Committee, also known as XX for short, 
were hard at work and successfully misleading the Germans. 

The XX Committee latest success was the feeding of fake reports of where 
the V-l's were falling, through the doctored messages of one of their turned 
German agents. As a result, the doodlebugs were creeping away from 
London Bridge and the heart of London and beginning to fall far short. 

The mischief that Denniston and his compatriots had been up to with 1-52 
had also been a success. Their mousetrap had both been set and spring. The 
Momi had been sent to the bottom with its cargo of raw material, and the 2 
tons of gold bullion in its holds. 

Sitting at his desk in his office in the heart of London, Commander 
Denniston read the USN action report message with great satisfaction his 
work only interrupted by the distant thunder of the occasional explosion. 


Denniston and his people in the commercial and diplomatic division of 
Bletchley, knew that the gold was as important as the other raw materials 
aboard 1-52. 

MI-6 agents in both Switzerland and in Sweden had been keeping close tabs 
of the bank accounts the Imperial Japanese Government were drawing from 
and they knew with almost 100 % certainty that the accounts were all but 
depleted. The Japanese were now living on credit with their Nazis cohorts, 
as with the Swiss and the Swedes. Their savings were gone and their credit 
might also soon dry up as well. 

Early the year previous, in 1943, MI-6 had run a successful covert operation 
and closed the air route out of Argentina in a brilliant false-flag deception. 
This had closed a route for commercial paper and promissory notes, as well 
as intelligence and technology transfer between Berlin and Tokyo. It had 
been a series of messages intercepted at Station Point Grey from 
Ambassador Oshima in Berlin to Tokyo that had alerted the British of the air 
route and the trade in commercial paper and promissory notes. 

What the Japanese had done in 1942 was place gold on account in Hanoi 
with the Vichy Government, and then drew letters of account from a 
prestigious French bank in Paris. They had set 2 tons of gold on account, 
gold stamped with the Crest of the Bank of China, in the Hanoi bank. They 
had not even bothered to re-smelter the bars of plundered gold. 


The Japanese, in turn, while drawing from their Parisian accounts were 
exchanging French Francs for Swiss and Swedish currency, and paying the 
Germans for the technology they were receiving. 

The success of the Argentine false-flag operation had closed this route 
down. A convenient fire in the Hanoi bank had also destroyed the official 
records of the transactions. 

The Japanese had sent their soldiers in to "repatriate" the gold on account in 
Hanoi. It was these same gold bars that was in 1-52 and sent to the bottom. 
With the paper route closed, the Germans still insisted to be paid by hook or 
by crook. 

As the Joint Intelligence Committee in London kept tabs on Japan-German 
commercial and diplomatic messages it was inevitable that this day of 
financial reckoning would arrive. 

Like thieves in the night, the single aircraft from USS Bogue had crept up 
and pick pocketed the Axis powers and had stolen away in the night. The 
1-52 was on its way to pay for the technology transfer between Germany and 
Japan. The Momi was their last great chance to stay in the black in the 
accounts with the Nazis. 

Maybe the technology transfer would cease, now that the Japanese could no 
longer pay their bills. This was Winston's view, but Denniston thought that 
"old Pooh" sometimes stepped into it in matters of grand strategy. Or he 
would sometimes latch onto to an idee-fixe or some nuance and not let go. 


He had done that in the Great War in Gallipoli and that cost the Allies and 
Winston too much 

It was hit and miss in Europe, but Denniston, knew that Winnie was right 
more often than not in the Japanese File and it was his prerogative to set the 
course of his Government and the people that served the Crown when it 
came to the Far East. 

After all, the Japanese file only really began to be interesting for Denniston 
and his colleagues at Bletchley when the Batavia dossier was tossed on his 
desk quite unexpectedly by Winston. In it was found a copy of the JN25 
codes the Dutch had purloined and copied from within the Japanese 
Embassy in the Dutch Far east in the spring of 1941. 

Then January 1942 came the recovered JN25 Code books from the UN 
submarine 1-124 which sank off Darwin Harbour in Australia. The wreck 
had been visited by USN divers and the codes shared between the USN, RN 
and the Royal Australian Navy. He had gotten into trouble with Winston 
over this but Denniston owed his old friend Captain Eric Nave of the Royal 
Australian Navy, and they had organized the recovery of 1-124. 

Then came a whole series of subterfuges and brilliant codebreaker that had 
broke open the Japanese Naval messages to an extend equal to the reading 
the allies were doing with the U-Boat traffic sent out by Donitz. 

If only the Japanese Navy knew. 


The message Denniston had in front of him was just decoded. It had been 
sent on June 27 th by Rear Admiral Hideo Kojima, UN Naval attache in 
Berlin to his superiors in Tokyo was short and to the point: 

"On June 27, the Germans had a dispatch to the effect that Momi had safely 
made her rendezvous with the German submarine, and the liaison officer and 
others were received on board. All hands on the Momi were in good health." 

Denniston reached across his desk and picked up the Green telephone and 
punched the lower right hand button. The polite voice at the other end came 
on immediately. 

"Winston please." 

While he waited for the Prime Minister, Denniston read through the message 
again to make sure he understood the nuances. Then the gruff voice came 
on the line. 

Denniston was annoyed. Someone had stolen his thunder. "Yes Winston . . . 
we got her. Nice of Horton to tell you but it was my show not his ... " 

The gruff voice softened his tone. Denniston soften up. "I can be at 10 
Downing in an hour. Lunch would be nice. See you then." 

With lunch Winston has bought the peace. Besides the commander was 
hungry and it was Friday. 


He put down the telephone. Sometimes it was a matter of who knew what 
but who knew whom. Denniston knew that Winnie never invited old Max 
Horton to lunch with him at 10 Downing street. And he had only been once 
to Checkers. 

Commander Allistar Denniston RN, on the other hand, had been at lunch so 
often with Winston that he had his initials set on the lunch napkins, so to 
speak. Beside, Winston, the good old Catholic will have fish served for 
lunch. And Denniston knew to expect Winston to serve not just a fine Fish 
but an equally fine French Claret. 

He had already drank the wine cellars dry throughout London. Even the 
Americans were trying to keep him afloat, but it somehow was the Swiss 
Ambassador who always found a way to feed Winston's thirst for fine 
wines. If the Germans ever found out . . . they could change thee course of 
human history just by spiking Winston's wine. 

To be on the safe side, Denniston knew to bring his own bottle. But the 
Napolean brandy, though, that was another thing entirely. Winston drew 
that from his own stock and only shared it with his closest friends. 

To add to the enjoyment of the moment, Winston usually loved to serve the 
precious Napolean brandy from expensive crystal snifters "liberated" from 
the German Embassy in London when it was seized as belligerent property 
in September 1939. He swore it made the brandy taste so much better. 


Commander Denniston had grown to love Winston's brandy, and knew he 
had earned every drop that Winston poured him. 

Their lunch had been a pleasant one and Winston was so pleased to hear that 
the USS Bogue had sunk the 1-52. He also asked for a progress report about 
Operation Trout. When he was satisfied Prime Minister Winston Churchill 
gave Denniston leave to return to his duties and proceed with the second 
phase of Operation Trout. 

So pleased was he with the Commander that Winston himself walked him 
out of Number 10 Downing, but by the back door. 

Just as he was about to send Denniston, Churchill took the cigar from his 
mouth and in a thick guttural voice proffered that "the back door is most 
appropriate for the two of us given what we have a propensity at. Good 
Luck ... Denny." 

And Denniston and his two body guards, the bookends as he called them, 
were on their way, into their car and back on their way. As Denniston 
proceeded back to his office in his mind he reviewed what had transpired in 
the past few days. 

The Block Island had intended to be the CVE tasked to search and destroy 
the Momi, but their best laid plans had been upset by the sinking. No U-boat 
had targeted and sunk a CVE carrier before and from the vantage point of 
both 10 Downing and Whitehall the sinking of the Block Island could not 
have been a lucky shot. It could only have been a prearranged attack. 


And so the second air carrier group had been rushed to sea. The Bogue had 
been their second choice. They had had barely enough time to get the crews 
on the Bogue familiarized with the new sonar buoy and Mark 24 
technologies before they had been set to sea in search of 1-52. 

Unknown to the US Navy, Operation Trout had been set in motion by the 
Royal Navy and H.M.S. Seraph had been sent to sea as a second line of 
defence had the aircraft from US air carrier group either been unsuccessful 
in getting the Momi or had itself also been torpedoed and sunk. 

The third line of defense would have meant a coordinated attack by both RN 
destroyers and a low level attack by RAF mosquito aircraft as the Momi 
entered the straits to Lorient. Nothing could be left to chance given the 
importance of the cargo that 1-52 was carrying to German, and the cargo it 
was slated to carry back to Japan on its return trip. 

H.M.S. Seraph was north-north-east of Cape Verde at the midpoint between 
the 1-52 's rendezvous point and in a direct track towards Lorient when the 
Momi was sunk. And so, at the sub sunk message from Whitehall, Seraph's 
first operational orders lapsed and the second phase of Operation Trout was 

When Seraph's captain opened the second set of operational orders on the 
afternoon of July 30 , it did not take him more than a few seconds to realize 
that his submarine would continue in its search and destroy mission while at 
the same time playing the ruse with both the Japanese and the Germans. 


At a submerged speed of 5 knots they were to make their way into the Bay 
of Biscay and onwards towards the approaches to Lorient in search of the 
second submarine, the U-530. 

Periodically they were to surface and play the ruse with the Germans and the 

And so it was that just before dawn on July 30th, and just before submerging 
after running on the surface for several hours to charge their batteries, Jewell 
authorized the sending of a short radio message, just three letters repeated 
twice ... QWF ... QWF ... 

Then they submerged and continued north northeast towards the Bay of 
Biscay for another . Again, the following morning they surfaced and sent 
the same message QWF . . . QWF . . . 

The following evening at around 2315 hours and again around 0415 hours at 
the approaches of St' Lorient a pair of radar equipped RAF Liberators with 
bombs and depth charges would be loitering - doing figure 8's - in search of 
the second submarine, U-530. 

But their prey, U-530 would prove too cunning and would escape both 
H.M.S. Seraph and the lurking Liberators. The Seraph would not catch a 
trout . . . this time out. 


Chapter 10 - Something Really Important! 

Susan Ross kept careful watch on the 24 hour clock on the far wall. He was 
late. He was never late. She knew him as well as the radio operators in 

As she waited Susan read back through her previous log entries. He was 
never more than three or four minutes past the hour when he started his 
message. More times than not, you could set your watch by his punctuality. 
But not today. It was now twenty-two minutes past the hour. He was late. 

The old goat was starting to take an interest in her idleness. She picked up 
her pencil and dawdled, doodling on the blank message form. The duty 
officer turned his back on her thinking perhaps that she was transcribing a 
message. Well that bought her some respite. 

Where are you? She adjusted the tune left and right. Nothing but static. 

Maybe they changed the frequency? Or perhaps they merely changed the 
transmit schedule? She picked up her pencil sharpener and sharpened a few 
more pencils, letting the shavings drop to her feet. It was all she could do to 
combat the strain. 

She put her sharpened pencils point up into the old tin can and let the 
sharpener fall at the end of its string. She watched the sharpener swing back 
and forth as she pushed the pencil shavings under the desk with her foot. 


Over months and months the floor at her feet had become slippery with 
slivers of graphite, the discards from the ceaseless chain of pencils she had 
sharpened, and used . . . then sharpened and used to their oblivion. The two 
things they seem to have an endless supply of were messages and pencils. 

The ones they supplied were wretched government issue, and so she brought 
her own. She had found an old stationary shop in Gastown that still had a 
prewar inventory of German and Japanese pencils. To Susan she had a 
personal satisfaction of knowing that at the heart of her efforts was an 
instrument of their own doing - pencils from Germany and Japan. 

To hide this though, she had to scrape the manufacturer's emblem off each 
and every pencil she used. To do this she had a pocket knife she had found 
in Robert's desk. It was hard not to think of her brother while she did the 
whittling. It was also hard not to forget the mischief he had gotten into with 
his pocket knife. 

She played with the sharp tip of one of the pencils. The minute hand 
continued to sweep around the face of the clock. She began to tap her hand 
with one of the pencils, keeping time with the second hand on the clock.. 

As she waited she let her mind began to drift and began to wonder what he 
looked like. To be so musical in his message delivery, he must have long 
slender fingers. Did he wear glasses? Perhaps he had a moustache. All 
intellectuals had moustaches. 


Her wait went on for another eight minutes and just as she was about to 
stand and stretch, a dot and a quick dashed surprised her in her earphones. 
The start caused the duty officer to turn and stare at her. 

It was the bottom half of the hour. It looked to her like they had changed 
their transmit schedule. So much the better she thought. The atmospherics 
were so far better so late into the night, and so her job became so much 
easier. That mysterious hand half way around the world had had a hand in 
making her a creature of the night. 

She tore the doodle off the message pad then the next, before she began to 
set the message down. The cadence and pace of the message seemed 
quicker than usual. She smiled. It was definitely him and he was obviously 
in a bit of a hurry. 

As she transcribed the message a few minutes in his pace began to return to 
normal. Susan sensed that the message had a different feel than most others. 
It had more numbers to it and more pauses, ever so slight. She had gotten 
use to annotating the message delivery as a means to help with their 
interpretation. This was definitely a technical message more so than a 
diplomatic one. 

It was almost as if the tone of this message was bureaucratic and the 
contents distasteful to the fist at the other end of the ether. Her sixth sense 
told her that it must be unusually important, more so than usual. 


He had started 30 minutes later than usual and the message itself was also a 
great deal longer than normal for an early Sunday morning. It was already 
late in the day in Berlin and so it meant something important had happened 
either the day before, or earlier that day. 

Susan had made a game of trying to keep up with the news from Europe and 
correlating this war news with the length and tone of the messages. It was 
her sort of traffic analysis. When something monumental happened, such as 
the allies invading Normandy, there had been a marked increase in both the 
number and length of the messages sent from Berlin. 

But this time it was odd. There was no monumental event that she read 
about in the news. Maybe, she thought, there was something that the 
censors had suppressed. Some bad news perhaps. 

Then, midway through the message those numbers appeared again, the same 
groupings that she had secreted away in her brassiere several days back. She 
couldn't stop and think a moment about this for the dots and dashes were 
coming at her at quite a clip. Maybe they needed a resend? 

Sometimes the atmospherics were too bad that Tokyo lost part of a message. 
This happened from time to the time at Station Point Grey, but they couldn't 
ask for a resend could they? 

It took sometime before the message came to an end. When the final tally of 
pages was made by her, it came to fifteen pages and over 1800 code groups. 
She had been right. There was something special going on. 


As she looked up at the clock Susan realized she had a headache - a 
throbbing headache - and the middle watch was far from over. Sometimes 
when she was concentrating on the dots and dashes the world both around 
her, and within her, just vanished. Then when the dots and dashes stopped 
the world around her would return. 

She handed the pages of message form in to the duty officer, grabbed her 
jacket and then walked through the door into the frosty and inviting night. 
She ambled down the stairs and around the side of the building before she lit 
a cigarette and leaned back against the cold wall of the building. 

Susan slipped her hand in her blouse and drew out the folded paper which 
she had been carrying tucked away for the past week. In the dim red light of 
her cigarette the numbers danced before her eyes. As she smoked her 
cigarette and thought about the grouping of numbers, her headache began to 
fade. The damned ozone again! They need to do something about that 
damned ozone. 

While she could not possibly make heads or tails of the written part of the 
messages, after all they were in some form of scrambled Japanese, with the 
numbers she felt she had a fighting chance. She was good with numbers. 

From her jacket she drew out a pencil and from memory she began to write 
out the added groupings of numbers she had transcribed in this evening's 
message onto the back of the paper. 

13447 24263 43344 32156 62533 


Why would they send numbers like this, she thought? Why not spell them 
out? Unless they were something scientific and too technical for mere 
translation. Maybe its something that can't be translated or maybe it is 
something that is only good when left as a number. 

13447 24263 43344 32156 62533 

Like a math formula perhaps? She shook her head? Silly Milly. Why 
would they want to send a math formula. 

Then her heart skipped a beat. It was like one of these numbers games that 
she and her brother Robert would play as children. He was always better at 
the physical things and she was always better at the ponderings of things. 
But in his defence she knew Robert never let his shadow catch up to him, 
while she was scared of hers most of the time. 

She was scared. She was breaking all the rules, but now that Robert was 
reported missing in action, and was presumed dead, she had one less reason 
to follow the rules. The rules had most likely killed him. 

He must be alive. He can't be dead. She pushed Robert out of her mind as 
she pondered. It was like a magic square that they had come across in an old 
book by W.W. Rouse Ball - Mathematical Recreations and Essays from 
Trinity College in Cambridge. 

13447 24263 43344 32156 62533 


In her mind's eye she laid the grid of numbers out in her head, then like a 
spiral of number starting with the first number in the series at the centre. 

345 12 342 6 346 3 352 6 342 1 344 7 ... 

On the edge of the paper she wrote out the numbers. 

345 12 
342 6 

346 3 
352 6 
342 1 
344 7 

She tossed her cigarette and stubbed it out. 

It was like a series of pages numbers and then some indices on the pages 
themselves. It must be something scientific! 

She looked across the field at the darken campus of the University of British 
Columbia and thought, well she might as well start somewhere in her search. 

If it's from some technical book the pages numbers and the like might lead 
back to one of the books of the shelves of the main library. 

As she walked back into the building Susan smiled. 


Well, it is worth a try and it would take her mind off her brother. It might 
even be something really important! 

When she was once again sitting in front of her receiver, Susan rubbed her 
hands together to warm them up and then set them impatiently along the 
edge of the table. 

As she had done many times before to pass away the time, she began to play 
music to the accompaniment of her mind's eye. They thought she was a bit 
daft, but she didn't care. 

Her imaginary piano helped to pass away the time. 


Chapter 11 - A Faustian Bargain Brought Home 

They hadn't noticed the drop of fluid fall from the edge of the round beaker 
on to their stainless-steel laboratory work bench. It was probably no bigger 
than a pin-prick but they sure felt its effect. 

Almost immediately Herr Doktor Schrader and his two laboratory 
technicians began to have trouble standing and even greater difficulty 
breathing. Then his world began to whirl madly. 

In that split second, the professor of organic chemistry had the good sense to 
run to the door and punch the red emergency button, setting the deafening 
klaxon blaring. Help was on its way! 

The Herr Doctor was the furthest from the spill, and the most experienced as 
far as the dangers of the toxin was concerned. The young army conscript 
from Berlin, was closest to the accident. He had reluctantly accepted the 
young man as a favour to a family friend, but he had never expected to be 
forced to employ him in the lab, and so he had given him the menial task of 
cleaning and washing the glassware. But the damned fool was always 
cutting corners and bending the rules. I guess today would be the day that 
would catch up with him. 

The young army conscript had caused the spill and would probably die as a 
result. The damned fool might take the professor to the grave as well. It is 
strange what you think of when you are about to die! All you could think 


about at that specific moment was never again will he do a favour for a 
family friend. But then again, the whole matter might be a moot point in a 
mere few minutes. Then the damned fool's parents will blame him and 
curse his good name. 

The other technician he had no connection with at all. He trusted him and 
his judgement. The second technician, the senior of the two, knew to put as 
much distance between the spill and the first technician when the first man 
began to cough, fight for his next breadth and begin the quick paralysis that 
would kill him. Once his diaphragm froze, that was it! 

The second technician knew not to rush across the room and lend assistance. 
The conscript was a fool, Schrader thought. When he realized what was 
happening to himself he had started to stagger towards the two of them, 
screaming madly. The Herr Doktor and the other technician had both yelled 
at the boy, "stay where you are", in the process emptying their lungs of their 
precious breadth. It had happened so quickly - a matter of mere seconds. 

And now together, the men were equal, all three trapped in a paroxysm of 
death. They fell like paper dolls onto the floor, then half folded into the 
fetal position, an involuntary act as the muscle spasms began to take hold. 
The glare of the clinical fluorescent lamps overhead made the whole scene 
surreal in its reality. The cold linoleum floor of the special I.G. Farben 
chemistry lab was an unwelcome stage for the death throes of the men. 

The Herr Doktor recognized the signs. He had inadvertently poisoned 
himself a year back while working on an earlier version of the 


organophosphate molecule that was mortally toxic to the human nervous 
system. It was a derivative of an insecticide he had developed and perfected 
in 1937. After seven long years of development the human version was 
nearly perfected. It would be ironic if its inventor turned out to be one of its 
first victims. Perhaps this was Schrader 's Faustian bargain brought home. 

There was nothing left for the Herr Doktor to do except turn his 
dispassionate scientific mind to the problem at hand and count the minutes 
down. The first man was foaming at the mouth and asphyxiating in a 
mixture or paralysis and vomit. The sheer panic in his eyes said it all. He 
was both conscious and aware what was happening to him. But he also 
knew that there was nothing he could do. The first man was Kaput! 

The second technician was breathing heavily, the very worst thing to do 
since the ingested neural toxin was accumulative and triggered by the 
metabolites of respiration. This was the inherent evil that made this toxin so 
deadly. The more you struggled to breath the more the toxin became deadly. 
His heavy breathing would not buy him the time he would need before help 
arrived. The Herr doctor placed his odds of survival at less than 50 / 50. 

Herr Doktor fought the urge to breath. Imagine you were deep under water, 
drowning and knowing that if you opened your mouth all that would flood in 
was the thing that would drown you. The Herr Doktor had suspected that 
carbon dioxide would bond with the organophosphate and neutralize its 


In a perverse way this accident, if it didn't kill him out right, will let him test 
his theory of diminished toxicity. As he let the carbon dioxide build in his 
blood his perception of reality began to alter radically, as did his perception 
of the passage of time. Between the hypoxia and the paralysis, Schrader 
knew that time was quickly running out for him. 

The second hand of the clock over the door began to slow almost to a stop 
and a constricting tunnel vision began to form, as wild, psychedelic patterns 
began to dance on the periphery of his field of view. 

Another thirty seconds perhaps, but another minute for sure, he would be 
dead. Then the door moved a touch. He swore it did. Then it opened a bit 

Hurry ... he heard himself yell, emptying his lungs of their precious air in a 
garbled spitting of words and froth. Schrader fought to grab another life 
giving breath, but he could manage not much more than a small gulp of air, 
which set him into uncontrollable convulsions. His heart was pounding in 
his chest - a pump on its last pulls. 

That small gulp bought him maybe another thirty seconds. He wasn't 
panicking just detached. Whenever he was under stress he became detached 
and emotionless. 

Then something tall and clad in a grey protective suit entered the lab. Then 
another and a third, and the door swung shut. They looked like giant insects, 
clad in their protective gear, with two round bug eyes - small goggles - to 


see what they were doing and shiny stainless steel re-breathers hanging on 
belts strapped to their hips. 

The three bug like figures quickly made their way over to the Herr Doktor, 
ignoring the two laboratory technicians altogether. They first placed an 
oxygen mask over his face and then jabbed a syringe in his arm. 

Almost immediately the shot of atropine they injected into his arm began to 
counter the paralysis. It was only after the passage of four or five seconds 
that his diaphragm began to move and much needed oxygen began to flood 
his starving lungs. He could feel the surge of energy across his brain blood 

The other two were men long dead, to be added to the growing number of 
test subjects that had been used to perfect the neural toxin. This would be 
different, though. These were healthy soldiers. The other hundred or so test 
subjects had been inmates from several different concentration camp, mostly 
woman and children, of different ages, weights, heights and cultural heritage 
and far from in good health. They rounded out their study in death to 
include the four corners of Europe. 

He was fully conscious as they opened all the lab windows and let in the 
frigid winter air. They stripped him of his clothes and began to wash him 
down with buckets of cold water. The combined shock of the cold water and 
cold air was almost as potent as the atropine and oxygen. 


They wrapped him in a clean white dressing gown and lifted him on a 
gurney that had mysteriously appeared. Then they wheeled him away, out 
of the lab, down the corridor past the concerned expressions of his 
colleagues who were close enough to watch his passage but not close 
enough to risk their lives and safety. 

Out the door followed two cadavers in closed rubber body bags. He was 
being wheeled up to the I.G. hospital and the heavenly felt care of 
Germany's best doctors and nurses. 

The other two, frozen in their death spasm, were being sent in the other 
direction - to the dark and sinister hell of the I.G. Farben morgue, deep in 
the basement of the same building. Good riddance he thought as the 
smaller of the two body bags was carted past him to the service elevator at 
the end of the hall. 

By the time the hour is out they will have been carved up in the name of 
medical science. Time was an essence is this type of autopsy. 

He too would be a guinea pig, but of a different sort. He would be a live 
one. As he wheeled him into the ward, he knew the routine, for Herr 
Doktor Schrader had written the book on the deadly organophosphate nerve 
gases and their toxicology, and by now he knew all the doctors and nurses 
by their first name. 


Chapter 12 - The Argentine Option 

Japanese Ambassador Oshima sat at his desk in his third floor office of the 
Japanese Embassy, a building tucked away in a quiet and somewhat 
protected corner of the diplomatic suburbs of Berlin. 

Unlike much of Berlin, the corner of the city where the embassy of the 
Japanese Imperial Government was located was protected. As a matter of 
policy, the allied bombers left the two kilometre by two kilometre enclave 
alone for fear of hitting the buildings of a neutral country, like Sweden or 
Switzerland, and causing an international incident. 

Oshima took the time to draft his long and detailed message with the great 
attention to detail he was known for. Earlier Oshima' s Imperial Japanese 
Navy Attache had met with his German counterpart at the Reich 

Their meeting had been a heated one and gone on twice as long as 
scheduled. When the acrimonious words about blame had been eventually 
pushed aside, both parties accepted that it was now clear that they had no 
choice but to list another of the Yanagi submarines, 1-52, as missing. 

It had been good that there had been a rendezvous between the two navy's 
ships at sea. Otherwise the German High Command would have not 
believed that the Japanese had made it as far as 85 % of their long and 
arduous journey across the world. 


Two days prior, the Captain Lieutenant of the German submarine U-530 
had sent a post-operation message about their rendezvous with the 1-52. Up 
until their encounter, everything seemed to have gone as planned. There had 
been the pre-arranged exchange of the Naxos radar detector, the needed 
enigma naval codes, and recognition signals and two German naval officers 
to the Japanese submarine. 

At great risk, there had been as well, the transfer of 100 tons of precious 
diesel fuel from U-530 to the Momi, and three senior German diplomatic 
personnel to U-530 who were returning home from their posting in Tokyo. 

The transfer of the three Germans from the Japanese submarine to U-530 
had not been planned as part of the operation, but was forced upon the 
Captain Lieutenant by a last minute urgent priority message from Admiral 
Donitz himself that arrived while the two ships were surfaced. In the 
middle of a dark Atlantic night, the whole transfer had taken only forty-five 

After rendezvousing with U-530, the 1-52 had proceeded to sail for a bit 
longer to recharge their batteries. It was such a large submarine that it 
needed much of the evening to run on the surface, on its giant diesels, and 
recharge its batteries. 

Oshima, himself an army general, did not really understand naval matters 
and so he let his naval attache explain the final legs of the 1-52 mission to 


him. After their rendezvous with U-530, the long recharge was necessary 
for the extended passage that lay ahead for the Momi. 

There were just two nights left before they had expected to arrive in French 
waters that were being patrolled by the Royal Navy and the USN. The 
Captain of the Momi needed to top up his batteries whenever he could 
knowing that the last 36 hours of their 12,000 kilometre long mission he 
would have to run submerged. 

Besides the 1-52 could, at a surface speed of nearly 18 knots, also travel four 
times faster on the surface than submerged. It was a sort of high wire act. 
Travel faster on the surface and close the distance and then at the last 
possible moment submerge and travel the most direct line to their 

If they came across any allied ships they would have to turn back, then 
recharge and try again. Despite being a leviathan, 1-52 did not have much in 
the way of a safety margin for manoeuvre given their load of cargo, the size 
of the Japanese submarine and its draw on their batteries. 

The Momi may have been first and foremost a naval ship, but in reality it 
was nothing more than a fancy and expensive blockade runner, a moving 
van carrying valuable cargo to and from Japan. To survive 1-52 could only 
rely on stealth, for how can you run and hide when you are so enormous. 

The German Captain Lieutenant had reported at the tail end of his 
operational message that a mere hour after their rendezvous at sea his sound 


man aboard U-530 registered the roar of two explosions, the first one 
shallow and the second one deep, in the direction of their last contact with I- 
52, then silence. And that for some hours later he also registered the sounds 
of multiple surface contacts in the vicinity of 1-52 's last known location, 
what he presumed were either Royal Navy or US navy ships. 

The Captain Lieutenant did not need to spell matters out in any greater detail 
in his message, nor did he want to, for he felt that U-boat Naval headquarters 
had the tendency to garner the victories and farm out the defeats. He had 
followed the procedures to the letter. The last thing he wanted was to be 
blamed for the loss of 1-52, and so he did not add to his message his 
assessment that the two explosions may have meant the destruction of the I- 
52. He just left that hanging. 

After dashing off this message to Admiral Donitz, the Captain Lieutenant of 
U-530 sat the three very lucky men who had been transferred off the 1-52 
down in his ward room and in a moment of sober realization, told the three 
their owed their safety to Admiral Donitz. 

The Momi had not arrived at its scheduled time in Lorient, nor had it arrived 
at the secondary time at the U-Boat port of Bergen in Norway. All its 
precious cargo of men and material were no doubt now scattered on the 
bottom of the Atlantic. 

Oshima knew that in the greater measure, the sailors, their ship and most of 
the cargo was of secondary importance. It was the loss of the 149 boxes of 
irreplaceable gold that was of particular concern to Oshima. The two 


tonnes of gold was Tokyo's payment to Berlin for the exchange of advanced 
technology then underway between the Germans and the Japanese. 

For the past year, as it became more and more difficult for the Japanese to 
pay their growing, outstanding bills. The Nazis had been generous with 
their credit, but even their generosity knew bounds, as did their patience. 
The promises that Oshima had made, by him to Ribbentrop and even by him 
to the Fuhrer himself, one way or another had to be kept or his reputation 
would suffer. Oshima was angry. His reputation meant the world to him. 

As he drafted the final part of his message he confirmed that he had made 
arrangements to transfer the last of the Stockholm contingent of precious 
gems to Berlin as an interim measure. Together it was only worth at most a 
quarter of what they had lost when the 1-52 was sunk. 

Under Oshima' s authority the Stockholm Contingency of precious gems and 
their pre-war stash of convertible assets, mostly stocks from the United State 
that had been surreptitiously acquired in 1938 and 1939 by their brokers in 
New York, and they had placed in four banks in Stockholm in 1940 would 
now be emptied out to buy some precious time. Ambassador Oshima would 
leave the Swiss Contingency for later, not if but when the end came. 

In his communication with Tokyo Oshima felt that it was time to inquire 
about the Argentine Option. The simple question stood out, a final line in 
his message: Were they wanting to proceed with the Argentine Option? 
He finished drafting the message then picked up the telephone. 


"Send the cipher clerk up to see me." 

He placed the telephone receiver back down and leaned anxiously back in 
his chair. It had taken him much longer to write this exacting message, not 
merely because the news of the sinking of 1-52 was such terrible news. 

It was because they had to set a new direction in their relationship with their 
German allies - the Endgame - and Oshima's language had to be diplomatic 
so that they could buy time, and the much needed military technology they 
needed to fight the Americans, and do this before the end came in the war in 

As he waited for the cipher clerk to make his appearance, Ambassador 
Oshima pondered the imponderable . . . Would Tokyo be ready to approve 
the Argentine Option? 

There was a knock at the door. "Enter Without looking up from his 

message he heard the door unlatch and swing open. "Ambassador you have 
a message for Tokyo." Without looking up he handed the cipher clerk the 
message form. "See that this is sent immediately." 

Oshima did not look up. He did not want the man to see the worry on his 
face. The clerk took the form and left the room without saying anything. 
When the door closed Oshima looked up and stared at the door. He did this 
for a long time, wondering as he did where they had gone wrong. 


In December 1941 everything had seemed so clear. Now, in December 
1944, the only thing that was clear to Oshima was their end was near. 


Chapter 13 - Neither Confirm nor Deny 

Within a few hours of his crash, and most with certainty by the next 
morning, the Swedish Air Ministry had posted an armed guard at the 
remnants of his Lancaster bomber. They had also collected and carted away 
the machine guns and remaining rounds of ammunition. 

Several days after the raid Robert Ross returned, under the escort of the 
same Swedish Major that had collected him up, to the isolated house at the 
equally isolated corner of Sweden to survey his downed aircraft with the 
RAF Air attache from the British Embassy in Sweden. 

As you approached his wrecked aircraft in daytime it seemed both bigger 
and less threatening in the light of day compared to the dark of night. He 
had never seen a crashed Lane before let alone one beached at the edge of 
the surf. In its night camouflage it really looked like a large dead whale 
more than anything else. 

The Swedish sentry looked almost comical in his drab green uniform, 
oversized helmet and even equally oversized rifle, bayonet fixed and all. 
The seagulls appeared to almost be mocking him. 

When the three men approached the broken bomber the sentry had first 
smirked then realized he needed to salute the three officers. The Swedish 
officer nodded and then said something to the sentry. The Swedish officer, 


recognizing the rank of the air attache as being senior to his own let the 
RAF officer take the salute for the three of them. 

The sentry, a little confused at first, did this by first shouldering his rifle, 
then extending it to arm's length before the saluting with one graceful bob of 
the rifle, horizontal to his body and clearly in the cadence dictated by proper 
Swedish army etiquette. 

The sentry went back to his routine march around the derelict, the seagulls in 
turn flying low overhead to keep him company. He approached the seaward 
side of the wreck. The tide was out and the tail was out of the water. 

Just as he was about to pass behind the crumpled twin tail of the Lancaster 
the sentry stopped and looked back at the three officers then stepped out of 
their sight behind the tail. 

He removed his bulky helmet and placed it carefully on the tailplane. Next 
he leaned his rifle against the hulk and reached inside his tunic to remove a 
packet of cigarettes, lighting one and then sitting himself down on the tail 
plane. The hulk creaked as it took up his weight. His helmet rocked back 
and forth. 

In a leisurely fashion the sentry drew a puff from his cigarette. Now that the 
others were here it was time for him to take a short rest. He had been on his 
feet since dawn, on alert to the approach of any salvagers or souvenir 


Since the beginning of the war, raw copper and aluminum was rare in 
Sweden. The sentry knew that if he were not there the derelict would have 
been stripped clean by the end of the day by beachcombers and salvage 

On the landward side of the wreck the air attache just stopped a few metres 
short of the Lancaster and put his hands on his hips. "This aircraft is without 
question a write-off." 

Robert Ross smiled and nodded his agreement. "Yes . . . not much you can 
do with it is there." 

The Swedish officer was silent as he walked closer to the aircraft to 
surveyed it. Then he turned " so we are agreed then?" 

The air attache responded in a clip, "what do you propose then?" 

The Swedish officer offered the air attache his broad toothy smile, "On 
behalf of the Swedish Crown we will offer you the value in weight of the 
salvageable materials minus the cost to clean the site up naturally" 

The air attache asked skeptically "naturally .... and how much will the clean 
up cost?" 

Ross roared with laughter when he heard the response "the full costs of the 
salvageable materials ... of course." 


The air attache turned to Ross and murmured "pity you hadn't crashed 
further in land." 

"Sorry sir, I will try harder next time" was all that he could muster in 

The attache continued, "and how is your wife and family Christiaan?" 

"They are doing well. Thank you for asking." They both knew now was 
when the negotiations began in earnest. "What's on your mind George?" 

The RAF officer walked over to one of the nacelles and crouched looking 
closely into one of the access panels that had popped upon on the crash. He 
turned back to address the Swedish Officer. "I notice the four Merlins are 
still intact." 

"So they are ..." 

"Let's take them off the wreck shall we?" the air attache declared. 

"Ross's report tells us they simply ran out of petrol, nothing more," the air 
attache continued. Robert nodded in agreement. 

The Swedish officer interjected, "once we lift the wing we can have them off 
the aircraft and inspect them then." 


The RAF wing commander nodded in agreement. "And the navigational aids 
and transceiver?" 

"The equipment is are still aboard the aircraft. We haven't touched them." 

"The pilot is here ... I want him to survey the state of the navigational aids 
and transceiver." 

The Swedish officer hesitated and then looked at the air attache who turned 
his head towards the aircraft and smirked. He swept his hand towards the 
Lancaster ". . . fine, I will give you ten minutes." 

The Swedish Officer yelled a command and the sentry reappeared from the 
far side of the Lancaster. The sentry marched smartly and presented himself 
to his superior who gave him an order to assist the pilot. 

Together the sentry and Ross walked to the wreck and the pilot entered the 
aircraft first climbing onto the wing and then onto the spine of his downed 
aircraft and then in through the hole in the canopy. 

As Ross looked around the cockpit he noticed just how badly damaged the 
instruments were. They were beyond salvage. He stepped down onto the 
corrugated aluminum floor and proceeded aft to the navigator's position. 
Daylight streamed in onto the navigator's table providing enough light for 
Ross to survey the state of the navigational aids and transceiver. 


The navigator's instruments, his circular slide rule, rolling ruler, pencils and 
protractor, were scattered across the floor of his cubbyhole. The Lane' log 
book was lodged in its pocket next to the table, no doubt the same place 
where the navigator had left it just before he bailed. Robert grabbed the log 
book but left the other instruments where they lay. 

As he turned to survey the H2S Radar Planned Position Indicator, Robert 
noticed that the overlay for their target at Peenemunde was still in the scope. 
He removed the cellophane insert and tucked it into his tunic. As he did this 
Robert thought back to his recent mission. 

Their target had not been the main collection of buildings and test 
equipment, They had been destroyed in a raid in 1943. There's had but a 
supplementary target that had nothing to do with either the V-l or the V-2. 
Something called Wasserfall - that was all they had been told. A new secret 
weapon more compact yet more powerful that either the V-l or V-2 which 
were falling on London at that very moment. 

Returning to the work at hand, he next searched for two wires within the 
jumble of wires harnessed together on the left hand bulkhead until he found 
two wires which he extracted from the bundle. He took his pocket knife out 
and carefully snipped first one then the other wire, being careful that neither 
wire touched. These two wires were the self-destruct circuit for the 
navigational aid and transceiver, and Ross had neutralized them. 

Now that it was safe to do so, Robert started to unscrew the wire bundles to 
the Gee receiver and then to the H2S Radar PPL He left the transceiver for 


later. He yanked the H2S Radar PPI box out and then placed it on the deck 
next to his feet. He then did the same with the Gee receiver. 

Just as he finished there was a dull metal clunk on the side of the aircraft and 
he noticed the face of the sentry looking in at him through the small portal 
on the wall of the navigator's space. The sentry was pointing at his watch to 
indicate that the ten minutes was up. Robert nodded and then stood picking 
up the two electronic boxes and started to make his way back to the cockpit. 

He extracted both boxes through the canopy then himself and then 
proceeded off his Lancaster in the now familiar route. The sentry helped 
him with one of the the two precious electronic boxes, the Gee received 
while he carried the H2S box. The two men walked back to the other two 
men who were engaged in a heated conversation. 

When he was nearly back, the Swedish officer turned to Robert and inquired 
of him "in your estimation is your aircraft now secure? Have you everything 
you came back for?" 

Robert hesitated before he answered, taking a clue on the expression on the 
air attache's face. "Not fully ... I see the weapons and rounds of 
ammunition have been collected, but there are still a few things needed to be 

"Well . . .", the Swedish officer was impatient, "what else then?" 


Robert continued. "I would like to remove the transceiver and some 
electronic equipment in the belly of the aircraft." 

"Is that all? I have already given you more time than I should have." He 
pointed to the two boxes sitting at Robert's feet. "I don't even know if I 
should let you take those." 

The air attache interjected. "I will be taking those boxes back with me to the 

"I thought so." The Swedish officer reached into his tunic and pulled out a 
packet of cigarettes and offered one to Robert, as a cue. 

Robert took a cigarette and let the officer light it for him. "Flight Lieutenant 
will you excuse us?" 

The air attache motioned to the side with his head and Robert obliged. 
"What's really on your mind Christiaan?" 

"I went aboard her this morning and saw the insert on your H2S receiver." 
At mention of H2S the air attache's heart skipped a beat. 
"The target was Peenemunde wasn't it." 
"H - two what .... Peenen munden" 


"George don't play dumb with me. Don't think we don't already know. The 
Germans have already provided the Swedish Air Ministry with the radar 
track for this aircraft turning north towards Sweden." 

Christiaan's Queen's gambit bluff worked. The RAF said nothing. If it was 
not the truth he would have protested, but Christiaan knew his friend too 
well. George could not tell a lie. 

"For God Sakes George . . . We have known each other for four years. We 
need to trust each other for our arrangement to work." 

The air attache thought for a few seconds before answering. "Christiaan . . . 
you known that officially I can neither confirm nor deny these kind of 
things. You know that." 

The Swedish officer just huffed. 

"But you are very clever and if you happened to have figured things out for 
yourself ..." 

Christiaan's eye brows raised in inquiry. 

"It would be un Christian of me ... to mislead you." 


Christiaan smiled at the double entendre. He also smiled because the two 
men evidently understood each other, and understood how the game of 
intelligence was played. 

"George ... I got into so much trouble helping the RAF airlift the remnants 
of the crashed V-2 to England. We look the other way when you and your 
colleagues play the game of foxes." 

The air attache relaxed a bit as he answered. "The allies appreciate 
everything that you and your colleagues have done for us so far in the war. 
The war won't last forever, and after the war we won't forget our friends." 

"George ... let me make myself perfectly clear so that there is no 
misunderstanding of what I am trying to say. My enemies in the ministry 
want to exile me to Lappland. You need to give me something that I can 
give them." 

The RAF nodded in understanding. A look of curiosity came over the face 
of the air attache, a look meant to edge him on. 

Christiaan continued. "You can keep the electronic boxes . . . but I need the 
log and overlay. I should have snatched them up when I had a chance but I 
didn't because of our friendship George." 

The air attache motioned for Robert to return. He stubbed out the cigarette 
and walked over to the two men. 


"Along with the two boxes did you remove anything else from the aircraft 
Flight Lieutenant?" 

Robert nodded. 

The air attache continued. "What else did you remove?" 

Without saying a word Robert produced the aircraft's logbook. The air 
attache motioned for him to give the book to the Swedish Officer. 

The Swedish Officer said, "we will return it in a day or so once I have 
reviewed its content. 

The air attache waited until Robert was facing him again before continuing. 
"Is that all Flight Lieutenant?" 

Robert hesitated before answering "well sir ... No it's not, but for 
operational security I have another item which I would suggest be kept 
under wraps." 

"Don't you think the Germans know what you and your crew were up to 
during your raid. They have already informed the Swedes that Peenemunde 
was where your outward leg of your mission commenced. They tracked you 
on their radar. Christiaan tells me the Swedes were listening in on their 
radios and that the Luftwaffe even sent another nightfighter after you but he 
couldn't find you because the night was too dark." 


Robert stiffened. 

The air attache continued. "Let me ask you again, was there anything else 
you removed from the aircraft." 

Robert nodded. 

"Well hand it over ..." 

Robert reached into his tunic and as he extracted the cellophane he crumpled 
it in his hand and handed it to the air attache. 

The air attache motioned for him to give it to the Swedish Officer. In a faux 
ignorance the air attache said "what the hell is that?" 

The Swedish Officer snickered. "I don't know what it is but it looks like it 
didn't survive the crash." As he reached over to take the crumpled 
cellophane from Robert's hand his cigarette touched the side of the 
cellophane and it caught fire. 

Robert let it drop to the sand and proceeded to try to put the sudden fire out, 
but it was too late. The overlay now lay a burnt, and indecipherable 
crumpled ball. The wind picked up and the ball began to roll away. 

All three men stood in disbelief. Obviously they understood each other. 

There is another matter we need to discuss. The three of us. 


The air attache motioned with his hand for Christiaan to continue. 

"Another of these strange objects fell out of the sky coming from the 
direction of Peenemunde a few days back and well ... the thing just tumbled 
out of the sky and made a big splash and just floated in the water not too far 
from one of our fishing boats." 

"Don't tell me you managed to grab the thing!" The air attache was tickled 
pink at the thought. 

"Well you know how curious us Swedes can be. The object fell in 
international waters and the captain of the fishing boat just managed to hoist 
the thing onto the stern of his ship and hide it under his fishing nets just as a 
frigate of the Kriegs Marine arrived on the scene." 

"Clever ... do all your fishermen do this?" 

"Only the really brave or determined ones." 

"What do you think it is?" 

"It's a missile of some sort. It might be a test missile. It's about half the 
size of the A4 we sent your way last month." 

"Interesting. What are you going to do with it?" 


"I thought I might ask you that question. Would you like to see it?" 

"Would I like to see it? What a damned foolish question Christiaan! Of 
course I would like to see the thing." 

The Swedish officer mentioned up to the top of the embankment. "Then 
Gentlemen, shall we go? It's a long drive up to Stockholm, and my wife are 
expecting the three of us for dinner." 

The sentry watched as the Flight Officer picked up the two electronic boxes 
by their chassis handles and walked behind the two officers who proceeded 
ahead of him as they continued in their conversation. 

When they got to the truck at the end of the beach they disappeared from his 
view. A moment later he heard the truck start, catch a gear and drive away. 

The sentry went back to his lonely trek around the wreck, with his passage 
once again mocked by the low flying seagulls. 


Chapter 14 - A Fox Amongst the Chickens 

As the 1-52 neared the Bay of Biscay the Japanese Naval Attache in Berlin 
Rear Admiral Kojima acted to assert his authority over the Momi by 
changing its operational name to the Ginmatsu. 

But they hadn't heard from 1-52 for nearly two weeks and although he was 
concerned Admiral Kojima attributed their silence to Captain Uno's caution 
and his need to stay off the air. 

The Momi could not risk being located by fix by the directional finding 
stations, or Y-stations, that the Royal Navy had set up around the Atlantic, 
and so the most recent intelligence they had of 1-52 came from U-530. 

On August 9 th a very detailed message was decrypted by Denniston's 
magicians at Berkeley square. The intercept descriptor at the top of the 
form indicated that the August 9 th message from Rear Admiral Kojima to the 
Japanese Naval General Staff had been intercepted at Station Point Grey. 

Denniston slowly and meticulously read the long message: 

"The Ginmatsu safely completed her rendezvous with a German 
submarine on 23 June. Thereafter she was instructed as to her movements 
by direct radio from the German Operations Department to the liaison 
officer . . . Though she was to report three or four days before reaching the 
[Lorient] rendezvous point, this was not done; however on 30 July she 


unexpected transmitted the agreed call, QWF, meaning that she was 36 
hours from an indicated point on her route. Accordingly German escort 
vessels stood by off Lorient at 0430 and 2315 on 1 August but did not effect 
rendezvous. Meanwhile they received the same prearranged signal, QWF, 
on the morning and again on the afternoon of 1 August . . . 

Thus they stood by in a similar manner on 2 August but did not affect 
rendezvous. Thereupon the German Navy radioed to Ginmatsu that escort 
vessels would stand by at the rendezvous point at 0430 on 4 August, and in 
case she did no join them she should report her condition. The escort vessels 
acted as scheduled, but, as before, failed to effect rendezvous. 

Since it seemed from the circumstances that there might have been 
some sort of error in the operations, I again radioed instructions concerning 
her movements directly to the captain of the Ginmatsu and asked for her 
expected date of arrival at the rendezvous point. However, I have received 
no reply to date, and doubts have been raised here about the ship's safety. 
Perhaps the QWF was a dummy call sent by the enemy, but no enemy 
operational action accompanied it. Moreover, on previous occasions when 
the enemy attempted to attack submarines in the Bay of Biscay, they have 
generally transmitted dispatches before and after the action. The German 
Navy can decipher those, but since there has been no such reports lately, 
they say that it would not seem that she was attacked in the Bay of Biscay. 
Therefore it is difficult to make assumptions concerning her condition, but 
the German Navy appears to have despaired of her safety in view of the fact 
that no news has been heard from her to date . . . 

The party sent to the port of landing to handle affairs connected with 
the Ginmatsu . . . stood by at Lorient, but when circumstances evolved .... 
and because of the rapid development of the war situation in northern 


France, they went down to the submarine headquarters. When 
communications with Lorient were cut off, they withdrew to Paris and 
returned to berlin yesterday, 8 August. The trip from Paris and return was 
fraught with great difficulty. Only four hours after they left Nantes, enemy 
armoured units entered the city. 

Though they ran into danger innumerable times, all came through 

Denniston initialed the form, to indicate that he had read the message. Then 
he proceeded to the next text in the pile. This one was dated 1 1 August and 
was sent by Vice Admiral Katsu Abe in Berlin, senior Imperial Japanese 
Navy officer in Germany. 

Denniston noted that the tone of the Abe message was not as indefinite and 
optimistic as the Kojima's August 9 th text: 

"In addition to our former loss of contact with the Satsuki and the recent 
report of the loss of the Matsu, we have failed to receive word from the 
Ginmatsu. The disaster which has befallen these liaison submarines, one 
after another, at a time when they were playing such an important role in 
transportation between Japan and Germany, is indeed on extremely 
regrettable loss to both countries . . . 

We will enter into negotiations with the Germans and press them to 
commission transport submarines. Since those which have already been 
planned are unable to avoid attack satisfactorily, construction of them have 
been suspended in favour of a plan to reconvert operational submarines for 
the assignment. 


And for the present, since our transport capacity is very meager, not 
other alternative is seen but to utilize the German submarines operating in 
the Indian Ocean." 

Denniston set aside the Abe message and unlocked the top drawer of his 
desk and extracted a file docket. He then unrolled a Royal Navy chart of the 
world onto his desk, weighing down the four corners with objects from his 
desk. He opened and set the docket down onto the desk. 

Then the Commander stood up and took a step back to get a big picture view 
of the world chart. Onto the chart was penciled in the track of the U-530 in 
the three weeks prior to its rendezvous with the 1-52. The U-530 had been 
off the coast of Argentina and despite the presence of undefended allied 
merchantman in the region had not attacked a single target. 

Around the time that the U-530 was known to be off the Argentine coast 
there had also been the unconfirmed report of a surfaced U-boat off the 
Punta Norte at the mouth of the Golfo San Matias. In a bar in Puerto Lobos 
not far up from the pier, a drunken Argentine fisherman had recounted a 
story of having spotted a sub travelling on the surface early one morning and 
the story had been overheard by a British secret agent working in the bar. 

The agent had telephoned the sighting report to the Mi-6 station chief at the 
British Embassy in Buenos Aires and the report had been conveyed to 
London and after a few hours then hence to the Royal Navy. 


When the Royal Navy sent a message the following day to their Naval 
attache in Buenos Aires, the Mi-6 station chief and Naval attache had it out 
in the office of the Ambassador. 

The SIS station chief stood his ground and the Ambassador, acting more like 
an older brother than an arbitrator, let the attache, in the Ambassador's own 
word "vent his spleen". The attache was livid that a matter of importance to 
the Royal Navy would be handled by the intelligence crowd and not by him. 

After airing his grievance, the SIS chief became amiable and understanding 
and over a glass of port poured by the British Ambassador, the Mi-6 station 
chief and Naval attache reached an understanding that without disclosing 
their source, from that point onwards the liaison between the two would be 
more direct. 

In fact it had been Commander Denniston in London who had suggested the 
arrangements. The British Mission in Buenos Aires needed to be working at 
peak efficiency and in a united fashion for what may lie ahead. In his 
measure of things, something portentous and definitive was definitely 
stirring between the Germans, the Japanese and the Argentine. Commander 
Denniston 's refined sixth sense told him that. 

The Commander paced the floor and wondered why the rendezvous between 
the U-530 and the 1-52 had not occurred further south than Cape Verde. 
From the enemy's point of view it was a safer place to make contact. 


And to try to make the entire passage from Germany to Japan aboard a U- 
boat did not make sense. The Germans and Japanese had already made 
Madagascar one of their way stations to and from the Indian Ocean for part 
of 1944, but the Royal Navy had caught wind of this and had shut them out. 

A shorter trip from Germany to Argentina would make sense to both the 
Germans and the Japanese. If Argentina was used as a way station in their 
transportation route then the Japanese would benefit from better delivery and 
the German Navy could still use their U-boats for operational purposes on 
their return trips back from Argentina. 

If this were the case, then it would make sense for the Japanese not to 
compromise the Argentina this early in the game. 

Half way around the world away from London and far down in the southern 
hemisphere, Argentina had always troubled him, but in a back burner sort of 
the way. It wasn't like a pot on a front boiler of the stove, boiling over and 
all, like the V-2's that were now dropping like bolts of lightning out of the 
sky over London. No it was a slow simmer, not quite a boil, on a back 
burner. Argentina wasn't a friend of the allies, nor were they really a full- 
fledged enemy. 

Earlier in the war Denniston had read the Bletchley decrypts closely as the 
German pocket battleship Graf Spee tried to flee to Argentine waters after its 
encounter with Admiral Harwood's flotilla in the South Atlantic. 


In fact, under Winston's guidance Denniston had set the trap for the Graf 
Spee and steered the Exeter, Ajax and Achilles across the path of the elusive 
Nazi warship and into harm's way. The Royal Navy Cruiser Cumberland 
was a day's sailing to the South East in the Falklands for added measure. 

Although outgunned, but not outnumbered, the three smaller cruisers Exeter, 
Ajax and Achilles split the fire of the behemoth and fought in the fine 
tradition of the Royal Navy "with great courage and dedication". They got 
the better of the pocket battleship Graf Spee at the Battle of the River Plate, 
and Admiral Harwood was heralded as a genius of naval tactics for being at 
the right place at the right time. But things normally did not happen so 
cleanly, and Denniston and his magicians had been given Harwood and his 
flotilla of fine ships a bit of a leg up. 

A few days prior to the encounter at sea things began to make sense when 
his Spanish language experts had made a significant break into the new 
Argentine Diplomatic codes. They had caught a "whiff of a nuance" as 
Winston characterized it - which in Churchill's rhetoric meant the stench of 
something rotten - that foretold of a port visit by a mysterious naval ship. 
An indirect inquiry a day before the encounter by the Germans through the 
Spaniards had confirmed Winston's conjecture. 

Whitehall messaged Harwood and his three small cruisers and informed 
them where they needed to sail when they needed to sail there and within 
minutes of the forecast time the three zealous ships Exeter, Ajax and 
Achilles in line ahead caught sight of a large naval ship sailing southwars 


from the north west. Together they turned to engage their enemy trapped to 
port by the Royal navy and to starboard by the land and made naval history. 

The Argentine and Spanish decrypts in turn also helped to keep the Graf 
Spee from sailing into Argentine waters. In 1939 the Foreign Office had 
pushed with great diplomatic force to convince the Argentines not to grant 
the damaged and outnumbered Nazi warship sanctuary. In the end the Graf 
Spee set sail for a short 72 hour visit to Montevideo across the River Plate in 
Uruguay and then chose to scuttle herself rather than face another battle with 
the Royal Navy. 

The diplomatic row with Argentine over the Graf Spee took some time to 
settle down. What the latest Oshima decrypt from Berlin was telling him 
was that once again though things were about to once again heat up between 
the British and the Argentines. 

The two nations never seemed to see eye to eye on matters of diplomacy 
even in peace time. In wartime there were fewer luxuries. It just like things 
were repeating from the last war, when Argentina sided with the Kaiser over 
the King. It was more than just the fact that Argentina was a fascist state in 
its own right, or that the British had an interest in the Falklands. Denniston 
knew that history taught that states could pretty much decide how they 
wanted to function, provided they left their neighbours alone, 

It was perhaps the fact that Argentina harboured an expatriate Germany 
community of nearly two million, and as a people the Argentines had 
decided to "remain neutral" in this war, but by all measures their neutrality 


was not like the neutrality of the Swiss or the Swedes, who sat sort of in the 
middle neither titling one way or the other. 

What the Swiss or Swedes gave one side in the war they were sure to give to 
the other side in their diplomatic high wire act forced on them by their 
geography. With Argentina, not constrained by being European and at the 
centre of German ambitions, things were much different. Never a 
democracy in the truest sense of the world, it had patterned its state of the 
worst excesses of 

Argentina was more like a young and not so distant cousin, once removed, to 
their German uncle, not seeking to be seen as sit at German's table, but 
warm and welcoming whenever the Germans wanted to seat themselves 
alluringly in South America. The Argentines would remain quiet and leave 
it to the rest of the world to figure out the visit arrangements. 

Intelligence was about figuring out these arrangements, solving the enigmas 
of things, Winston once told him. Nothing was a greater puzzle than Special 
Intelligence, the intelligence that was so secret that only Winston and one or 
two of his coterie knew what it was about. 

Denniston picked up the telephone and punched a number. A voice came 
on. "Denniston here. We need to talk." Denniston listened for a moment 
then interjected. 


"Drop everything else . . . this afternoon around three . . . fine and bring the 
Argentine file." He listened again, growing impatient. "Any chatter over 
the nets about something called the Argentine Option?" 

"I don't care what you are working on presently. This is important ... 
damned important." Satisfied he set down the telephone. That ought to set 
the fox amongst the chickens he thought. 


Chapter 15 - It's not my war, after all, is it! 

As the steward pushed the heavily laden cart with the four stainless steel 
cases out of the vault and towards the counting room, Ambassador Okamoto 
slowly and solemnly followed the banker out of the inner vault of the Bank 
for International Reconstruction in Stockholm. 

The Ambassador always took his role seriously and did everything slowly, 
even when he was by himself. He was most solemnly to the point that some 
of his colleagues in diplomatic circles in Stockholm took to equating him to 
tortoise, right down to the choice of the colours in his suits. 

Some anonymous member of the US Embassy took to saying that at times 
Ambassador Okamoto could act out the role of both Tweedle Dee and 
Tweedle Dum at the same time. What the Ambassador had to say came 
slowly ... the Tweedle Dee in him . . . and what he would say would never 
make much sense . . . the Tweedle Dum in him! 

Early yesterday morning he had received the short encoded message from 
Ambassador Oshima in Berlin asking him to seek the release of the financial 
instruments the Japanese Imperial Government had transferred to the vaults 
of the Bank for International Reconstruction in Stockholm in early 1942. 
These were the bonds that had been smuggled to Stockholm hidden in the 
hold of a Swedish passenger ship from Hong Kong. 


Okamoto's order from Oshima was to ask the BIR for transfer these 
financial instruments by wire transfer to their International BIR accounts in 
Berne and Geneva. 

Okamoto's hoped the Stockholm office of the IBR did not take too close a 
look at the financial instruments. If they did they might question the 
dubious provenance of the paper. The Ambassador knew that it once sat in 
British Banks in Hong Kong. In polite circles they were considered as 
legitimate returns that had been acquired as the proceeds of war. In less 
polite circles the bearer bonds were plunder pure and simple. 

Knowing of the uncertain provenance of the financial instruments, Okamoto 
felt it most appropriate that the bonds be used to buy from the Germans the 
means to continue Japan's fight against the allies. Business was business 
after all and in late 1944 Japan was fighting for her very survival. 

Okamoto had been taught early on in his diplomatic career to measure the 
world in terms of Real-Politik - nations do not have friends and they do not 
have enemies, all they have at the end of the day is their national interests. 

Let the Germans learn about the deceit later if need be, but they needed the 
125 million pound sterling on account to buy the gold in Berne and Geneva 
needed to pay the Nazis so that Berlin would release the technologies that 
Japanese had on order with them. 

In the end all that was really happening was one type of paper was being 
traded for another type, the trade giving them four tonnes of technical 


specifications and drawings for jets, rockets, new and deadly weapons and 
the radars and surface to air missiles the Japanese Army Air Force needed to 
defeat the B-29's. 

As part of their technology exchange, the Japanese would get one working 
copy of each piece of equipment on order, save the atom bombs the 
German's were boasting about but as yet had not perfected. 

Okamoto did not care for exotic weapons, like atom bombs. Instead he had 
insisted and it was agreed that they get the new gases and germs the 
Germans had recently perfected. If a working model for an atom bomb 
could not be delivered in time they would at least get 2 tonnes of partially 
enriched uranium instead. 

Suemasa Okamato had been Japanese Ambassador to Sweden for most of 
the war, learned in the art of Western diplomacy and their somewhat foreign 
negotiating habits. For more than three interminably long years Ambassador 
Okamato has been waiting for his chance to make a name for himself and 
step forward to negotiate a truce in the Pacific. 

He and his colleagues in the Foreign Ministry in Tokyo had gamed out the 
whole thing war - like Kabuki theatre. Make war with America long 
enough to push the limits of their Greater East Asia Co-Prosperity Sphere to 
its fullest extent, as far away as the Hawaiian islands if need be, and then 
wait for America to come, hat in hand, to negotiate a truce and thus 
acknowledge Japan's Hegemony in the region and Japan's right to fulfill its 
destiny in the Pacific. 


But then the unexpected had happened. The Americans fought and fought 
and fought. Beginning with the defeat of the Japanese invasion fleet at 
Midway in June 1942, just six months after Pearl Harbour, things began to 
slowly and inevitable turn against Japan. The Co-Prosperity Sphere began 
to shrink. Maybe Admiral Yamamoto was right ... all they had done was 
wake a sleeping giant and instill in them great resolve! 

At the beginning of the war all the Americans had were a handful of B-17 in 
the Philippines and all B-17s could do was perhaps slow the Japanese 
Navy's advance towards the oil fields of Sumatra and Malaysia. 

Since 1941 the High Command in Tokyo knew it was only a matter of time 
before US technology and their production capacity would permit them to 
strike at the very heart of Japan. For much of the past six months the 
Americans have been close enough to bomb Japanese cities with their long 
range B-29's. Soon they will be in range with their smaller bombers. 

The Americans, he thought, had no honour. Instead of fighting and dying on 
the battlefield like brave Samurai, they were laying waste to his homeland. 
They didn't fight according to the Bushido Code. But Okamoto also 
understood that in the name of their Emperor, the Japanese did not fight 
according to the Geneva Conventions and the Hague Convention. 

In Berlin Ambassador Oshima had to explain this over and over to the 
unbelieving German Generals who distanced themselves from the affairs of 
the Far East and wanted the High Command in Berlin to step back from their 


commitments to Tokyo. Some of the Generals even went so far as to say 
that the Japanese were not honorable soldiers, for honorable men don't lop 
the heads of the defeated enemy. 

Then came the massacre at Malmedy, and the Nazis criticisms of the way of 
the Samurai all but went underground. 

In his own heart Okamoto was very angry and very bitter. He had lost his 
parents to the Tokyo bombings and had not heard from his brothers and 
sisters for many months. In his anger he wanted to even the accounts and 
lay waste to America and he didn't care how this was done, only that it was 

Japan's Nazis allies were not fairing well either. Time was running out for 
them as well. The allies had landed first in North Africa, then Italy, then 
France, and now they were at the Rhine. Most of their cities now lay in ruin 
under the daylight bombardment by B-17 and the nighttime bombing by the 
RAF Lancaster. 

Okamoto, pragmatic as always, gave the Germans less than six months and 
then surrender was inevitable. He understood that if Oshima did not act 
soon and rather quickly, the technology that Germany had perfected and 
offered for sale to Japan would be trapped in Europe so that even the 
northern route out of Bergen Norway would be closed to them. Then what 
would come of the Argentine Option? 


In Asia, the two sides were fighting each other at the same time, in the same 
place, but in a very different way. American technological prowess was 
triumphing over Japan's soldiers and their Bushido code. 

Oshima understood this, as he did as well understand the weapons they 
needed to continuing fighting- to beat the Americans at their game, they 
needed to match their technological prowess, and the only way they could 
accomplish this in the near term was with the advanced technology the 
Germans were ready to provide them. 

At the very least this would buy the Emperor time to find an negotiated end 
to the conflict on their terms and not that the Unconditional Surrender the 
Americans were insisting upon. 

After waiting three long years, one way or another Okamoto knew he would 
enter the match and play a role in the end game. Since June 6 , 1944 he 
championed the Stockholm Option - the negotiated settlement in his 
messages back to Tokyo. 

Otherwise, in this all or nothing war, the only other choice was Oshima' s 
and his Argentine Option. That could only lead to one outcome - 
Gotterdamerumg . 

The whole thing was pretty explicit. Here in the winter of 1944/45 Japan 
was at war with fifty nations, and these fifty nations were ready and set to 
wipe Japan right off the face of the earth: it was a simple dichotomy 


between the Stockholm Option or the Argentine option, between Okamoto 
and Oshima. 

But orders were still orders, and here was Okamoto lending aid to his 
archrival and nemesis in Berlin ! 

The Swedish banker noticed that the Ambassador was deep in deliberation. 
For several minutes, he had patiently waited for the Ambassador to gather 
his thoughts. But he didn't have all day. It was getting near 2:00 in the 
afternoon and the bank closed at 3:00. When he got the urgent message he 
had cut his lunch meeting short to accommodate the Ambassador. 

The banker cleared his throat. The Ambassador turned to the banker and 
inquired, "well then, what do we need to do next?" 

The banker responded curtly but courteously as it was his fashion for 
banking patrons of such importance. "Everything appears to be in order, Mr. 

Okamoto reached into his formal morning coat and pulled out his expensive 
gold fountain pen, tapping it against his belly. "Do I need to sign anything?" 

They both shared an impatience to sign off on this transaction. 

"Yes. You must first sign the ledger confirming your instructions then 
review and sign the formal transfer papers in triplicate. Then I will get you 


to review and sign off on the wire transfer message to our branches in both 
Bern and Geneva." 

"How long with this paperwork take then, Director?" 

"Perhaps an hour, maybe less. " The banker impatiently glanced at his 
pocket watch before he continued "The bearer bonds are in large increments 
and so there are only a handful that need be counted and registered. We 
don't often get currency bonds in such large increments, but the fact they are 
makes my job so much easier." 

Okamoto nodded in his serious and solemn fashion. The Swedish banker 
directed Okamoto to the shiny brass doors of the elevator, and then followed 
him to the elevator at the end of the hall. 

As he slowly shuffled along, the plush green carpet under his foot produced 
a rasping sound that kept time with his pace. This only made the banker 
more impatient. 

When they got into the elevator, the elderly elevator attendant, who had been 
told to wait for them, waited until they were both in the car, hesitated for two 
seconds, then closed the brass accordion cage door behind them in a fluid 
and well-oiled motion. 

Next he waited for the banker to nod then the elevator attendant move the 
lever to the right causing the lift to ascend, past the first floor, and the 


second and the third onto the fourth floor and the offices of the senior 
Directors of the Bank for International Reconstruction. 

"What's the total wire transfer then?" The Ambassador knew the answer but 
still asked the question. The elevator attendant's ears picked up but he 
remained impassive. 

"125 Million Pounds Stirling, Ambassador." 

The attendant fought back a smile. In their eyes he was invisible, a nothing 
- merely part of the wood panelling. That's what made him so effective. 
People often overlook the obvious and he was as obvious as you can get. 

As they ascended the Swedish banker watched the Ambassador sway back 
and forth in the lift. He smiled to himself. The 1.5 % handling fee for this 
wire transfer will make him the most remunerated Stockholm Director of the 
BIRfor 1944. 

His Christmas bonus meant that perhaps he could retire this year at 50. He 
knew not to ask too many questions for once the wire transfer to Switzerland 
was completed the matter of provenance would become someone else's 
headache, not his. He had followed procedures after all. 

What more could they ask him to do. He couldn't just walk up to the British 
Embassy and ask them for permission to let the Japanese do what every the 
Japanese were up to. He was not obliged to tell them anything. They would 
find things out in their own time and in their own way. 


Let the Swiss be the bearer of the news, and let the Germans, and Japanese 
fight that battle with the English when the time comes, the Swedish Banker 

As they arrived on the fourth floor the elevator attendant brought the car to a 
smooth stop and opened first the inner door then the outer one. The 
Ambassador stepped out of the elevator and onto the plush blue carpet on the 
fourth floor. 

The Swedish banker followed the Ambassador out of the elevator and onto 
the plush blue carpet, and thought ... it was not my war, after all, was it! 

As he watched the two men shuffle down the plush and staid hallway and 
step into the Director's office, the elevator attendant smiled. The fact that no 
over ever saw him for who he really was made him the ultimate agent. 

Everyone who entered or left the Stockholm branch of the Bank for 
International Reconstruction passed through his elevator door, and he had a 
good memory for faces, dates, times and overheard conversation. 

The Japanese Ambassador to Sweden just let the cat out of the bag and by 
this evening his MI-6 Controller in London will have this cat purring softly 
in the British lap. 

The bell rang once - Ground Floor - and the attendant closed the double 
doors to the elevator and pushed the lift lever to the left. 


As the elevator descended he looked at his watch. Another hour and this cat 
will be out and about. 


Chapter 16 - Stockholm is so Peaceful at Christmas. 

When Carl Krauch, the managing director of chemical weapons 
development at I.G. Farben's facility at Dyhernfurth, was informed that 
Professor Schrader had been nearly killed in an accident in his research 
laboratory, the director immediately telephoned his personal physician to 
inform him that he had made arrangements for the doctor to fly down in his 
own private Junkers-52 to personally attend to the professor's recovery. 

As he sat in his office in the ground floor of his old family home in Potsdam, 
the old physician stared at his reflection off the desktop. So nice of you to 
ask me, the old man thought, looking at his aged and wrinkled face. He 
hardly recognized himself. He was in his seventh decade and showed it. 

Gone was the old sparkle in his eyes. That left him in 1941 when he lost his 
son in the first days of Operation Barbarossa. 

Gone was his smile, when he lost his wife in 1943 when a British bomb 
exploded in Berlin where his wife was visiting her sister who had just lost 
her husband in North Africa. 

And gone was his sense of humor as his old and dear secretary had packed 
her bags and went back home in the summer of 1944 when her husband was 
killed at the battle for the Falaise gap when the allies broke out of 


Everything that he held dear had been taken from him, save his practice. 
But as the number of his older and more distinguished patients began to die 
or drift away from Potsdam it was only a matter of time before he would be 
forced to close this down and fade away himself. 

The old physician hated the war, but he didn't hate the British and the 
Americans. He knew them, having fought against them in France in the 
previous war. What he hated was the upstart corporal and his thugs, and 
what they had done to his Germany. His Germany was gone, shattered into 
a million broken bits of memory and tradition. 

As he spoke to the Director on the telephone, the old physician did not want 
to leave the safety of his quiet practice and travel to the patient, at I.G. 
Farben's research facility in Bavaria . He insisted the patient come to him. 

For several minutes he argued with the Krauch, insisting that "flying was 
unsafe, in peacetime and certainly in wartime". The old man, though, was 
too proud to admit he was scared of heights and even more scared of flying. 

"Perhaps he can take the train," the old man pleaded. 

"No." Krauch 's patience was wearing thin. "No you are to leave 
immediately! There is a plane waiting for you at Templehoff which will 
leave within the hour. I have already dispatched a car to pick you up. It 
would be there in twenty minutes. 

"Why me?" 


"Because you are needed," was the insistent reply. 
"But travelling shakes up my old bones. 

"You're getting soft old man. Perhaps your old bones need a shakeup." 

"But it's the dead of winter. It's too cold for a man my age to go playing in 
the snow." 

"Don't worry old man. We will take good care of you." 
"Do I have a choice?" 

"Do your patriotic duty!" The tone of the Krauch's reply sent chills down 
the old man's back. 

"What's it all about?" 

"It's not something I will discuss with you over the telephone. In fact it is 
not something I will discuss with you at all. When he got there he would 
know what to do." 

"Enough was enough!" The tone and temper of their dialogue was not 
sitting well with the Director, so he ordered the old goat, and you used those 
exact words over the phone, to either to do what he was told or he would 
find a new private physician. 


Their disagreement came to a definitive and abrupt end when Krauch barked 
into the mouthpiece that he didn't have time to discuss this any further. "I 
have more pressing matters", and slammed down the telephone. 

The Director would have perhaps been more severe and fired him on the 
spot but had it been for the fact that the physician was an old family friend 
that had brought the director into the world some five decades earlier. 

It had been the old physician that had been there for the boy, when he had 
the influenza in 1918 that nearly killed him, had been there as he grew 
nursed him back to health and he grew into a man, then an accomplished 
chemist, then an industrialist and now a director of the biggest chemistry 
company in Germany. 

So the old doctor packed his travel bag, and stood waiting for the car as it 
drove up a good ten minutes later than he had been told. Then he set off for 
Templehoff airport, in the centre of bombed out Berlin, where the Ju-52 
waited to fly him south. 

His trip into Berlin upset the old man. Many of the familiar landmarks from 
his younger days were either damaged or destroyed by the war. This made 
him angry. 

He was born the year that Napoleon the third had made war with the 
Germanic provinces. He had gone to medical school when Bismarck 
reigned over a stable and familiar Germany. He had even done his patriotic 


duty when he had fought on the Western front in the '14-18 conflict. After 
the war he had taught medicine at the University of Berling for two decades 
before retiring from teaching in 1938. 

As he drove through the streets of Berlin, past the piles of debris and 
toppling walls, he did not recognize the city. 

It wasn't the bombed out relics of buildings he did not recognize. It was the 
grey hollowness in the faces of the people, mostly woman, children and old 
men that were shuffling in the streets. It was the red and black banners with 
that horrible symbol. It was the loss of the stable and familiar. 

The old physician did not like what he saw. He could not cure Germany of 
its ills. At this late stage of its disease it was beyond cure. The patient had 
to succumb to its excesses. 

When the car arrived at the side gate of Templehoff airport they was ushered 
through the gates by the guards who were evidentally expecting them and 
driven immediately to the foot of the stairs leading up to the tri-engine 
passenger plane. As he stepped out of the car, one by one and the chauffeur 
retrieved his bag from the boot, the three motors of the Ju-52 sprang to life. 

The old doctor turned to face the stairs. This was his last chance to turn 
back, but waiting at the top of the stairs for him was a fine-looking flight 
attendant who held her jacket closed against the cold as she waved and 
ushered him onto the plane. 


Slowly and carefully he took the first step up the stairs. She called his 
name. He looked up as he ascended the second step then the third. A cold 
rush of air from the prop wash was pushing him over and he was finding it 
harder and harder to climb the stairs. The young lady hurried down the 
stairs and took his air, shielding him from the prop wash. 

He looked into her eyes. She could see his fear. "You can make it! I will 
help you."" 

Then in a blur they were both in the plane and he was sitting in his seat. 
Except for the two of them, the aircraft was empty. She strapped him in and 
had just enough time to strap herself into the seat next to him. 

He closed his eyes tight and before he knew it the plane started to move and 
pick up speed. When they were airborne, it was then that he felt the girls' 
hand on his arm. 

He opened his eyes and looked into her warm and inviting blue eyes. "The 
director told me that you didn't like flying. Don't worry I will take good 
care of you. Can I get you anything?" 

"Yes. . . a sniffer of Schnapps, bitte." She got up and went to the front of the 
airplane, returning in a moment with a sniffer of Schnapps and a hot water 
bottle and blanket. She gave him the Schnapps, placed the hot water bottle 
on his lap and then covered him in the blanket. 


Then she reached across him and closed the blind over the window, brushing 
ever so lightly against his arm with her body. She smelled of roses. 

The old doctor's blood began to warm, but he didn't know whether it was 
the Schnapps, the hot water bottle the blanket or the attractive young woman 
that was warming his heart. Perhaps it was a little of all four. 

She was pleasant and accommodating and sat next to him in the cold and 
empty airplane as they flew south. They chatted about life before the war 
and what life might be like after the war was over. 

He appreciated her company as well as her sense of humour. She 
appreciated his kindness and understanding. She reminded him of his dead 
wife when she was the young woman's age. He reminded her of his long 
dead father. 

Together this made the flight pass quickly and then they were landing and 
had to make their goodbyes she smiled and said she would be there to take 
him safely back home when it was time for him to return home. 

The air field was part of the large I.G. Farben town where the labs and 
hospital was located. Unlike Berlin that lay in ruins, this little picture post- 
card Bavarian town was all but untouched by the war, save for the crimson 
red and black banners. The old doctor smirked. No matter where they went 
in Germany, it was not possible to escape this madness. 


The old physician was met in the lobby of the Hospital by a single man, the 
doctor treating Schrader. After the exchange of a few pleasantries the chief 
doctor escorted the old physician up to the patient's room. 

When they entered the patient's room Schrader was sitting in a big plush 
chair next to the window covered in a layer of several white blanket. His 
eyes were closed and an intravenous drip was hanging from a pedestal and 
was feeding into his right arm. 

Schrader opened his eyes and stared meekly up at his visitors. His face was 
drawn and white. He looked horrible. There were dark bags under his eyes. 
But his eyes were alive. 

Almost in a whisper Schrader said "good morning ... the director told me to 
expect you." The old physician nodded and took the patients wrist into his 
hand to take his pulse. His skin was cold and clammy. 

The old physician took charge. "Let me see what I can do." Under the 
watchful eye of the chief doctor the old physician did a thorough physical 
examination of his special patient. He asked a constant stream of questions, 
some he could answer and others he could not. How could he answer a 
question like "what had brought this on?" without saying too much. 

The old man knew that they were holding back on something important. But 
he did his duty and soldiered on, like he had done in the last war. 


What stood out was that the patient's lungs were filled with fluid, his 
breathing was laboured and his pulse was weak. The patient's liver was 
fine to the touch but his kidneys were not sensitive. He had not been passing 
much water. 

The younger doctor stood back and tolerated the older physician, merely 
because the director had told him to do so. The chief doctor knew Schrader 
well, having treated him last year for a similar accidental release of the 
neural toxin. 

The patient just sat and cooperated as best as he could, answering those 
questions he could without revealing too much While Herr Doktor Schrader 
appreciated the director's kind gesture, even in his weakened state the 
Professor could see that the old and haughty physician just did not fit in well 
with the young and energetic chief doctor. 

Near the end of his physical examination, the old doctor wanted to take 
blood samples, but the young physician intervened and said that they were 
handling the matter. 

He announced that it wasn't influenza, for the old doctor knew all about the 
signs of influenza. The chief doctor just nodded and said nothing. 

Then the old physician insisted that he wanted to see Schrader' s medical 
files. But the chief doctor emphatically said he couldn't because Schrader's 
condition was due to special research and both the research and his medical 
files were Streng Geheim - top secret. 


The two doctors began to argue. The professor just closed his eyes. The 
two doctors realized it was best they continue their consultation outside step 
out into the hallway. 

So things went back and forth and continued like this for several days 
between the old doctor and the hospital staff. It was only because the 
Director had granted his visitation rights that the old man was allowed into 
the ward. And it took all the hospital staffs patience to tolerate his 
antiquated and old school ways. 

But the old man wasn't a fool. He had seen this all before when he had 
treated gas victims during the last war. He guessed they were up to it again ! 

And, having guessed what had happened, it took all the old physician 
patience not to read them the Hippocratic oath. He had seen what gas had 
done on the Western front. 

Years before he had treated the soldiers from both sides and had watched 
helplessly as they drowned in their own bodily fluids, their lungs scared 
beyond repair, the men drowning as sure as if they were sinking in some 
body of water, except they were sinking in their own bodies of water. 

It disgusted him, and it took all his reserve to not turn and yelled this at 
them. Who the hell do they think they are being such beasts! Weren't 
bombs and bullets enough. Now they wanted to gas the enemy. Don't you 
think they will retaliate, and eye for an eye, and a lung for a lung? 


The old physician, attended Schrader as best he could, helping him along 
with his recovery with diet and natural remedies. He prescribed fresh 
vegetables, vitamin C, chicken soup and an electrolyte concoction that stank 
up the place. But he did not receive any special help from the hospital staff. 

They drew the line at apothecary drugs and vitamin injections. They would 
not let him administer oral medication or injections of any sort. They would 
look after that. 

So he brew a very strong poppy seed, chamomile and fennel tea and got the 
patient to drink the mix once an hour, on the hour. Schrader' s kidneys had 
never been so busy. He urinated with such regularity that his plumbing 
began to ache. 

That was nothing to worry about, the old physician told him. That is good. 

The hospital staff, in turn, treated the patient with atropine and a cornucopia 
of other drugs, whether intravenous and oral. 

It did not take the old doctor much to understand why the Director had sent 
for him. The symptoms were similar to the influenza of 1918, but it was not 
caused by a virus. The old physician knew that it might be some chemical. 
So he treated him and shared his medical experience in the treatment of 
pulmonary deficiencies with Schrader and the chief doctor. 


The evening before he left there had been an exchange of heated words 
again right outside Schrader's hospital room, waking him at one in the 

Then when things had settled down and the night staff were occupied 
elsewhere, the old physician snuck back to talk with Schrader in the middle 
of the night. 

The old physician gruffly told him to stop what he was doing before it was 
too late. Schrader thanked him for his kindness but told the old man that it 
was none of his business. 

The old physician would have none of this. He changed his tack and asked 
the professor "Do you know much about ancient Greek mythology?" 

"We studied a bit in grade school." 

"Once you open Pandora's box there is no closing it. And what you let 
loose from Pandora's box will not just harm others." 

"I know what I am doing." 

Schrader did not sound all that convincing to the wise old man. "In the last 
war this is what they said and look what happened!" 

"That was then and this is now. We have made great progress!" 
"Progress. How does one measure progress?" 


"We know what we are doing?" 

"Do you? Look at you! Surely what you have just been through tells you 
how it might harm you as well." 

"You should stick to medicine old man and leave the chemistry to me." 

The old man clenched his fist. Although he wasn't prone to violence, he 
very much wanted to punch the professor and knock some sense into him. 
"Son, you are an arrogant bastard. 

"Old man, you can go to hell." 

The old physician started out of the room and grabbed the door handle will 
all his force. Without turning back snarled "You first ..." and stormed out 
of Schrader's room in revulsion. 

As he stepped into the hallway the old physician knew not to slam the door, 
but closed it gently. He had to remain in control of his emotions. He had to 
think. What should he do next? 

After three days and four nights in Bavaria, the Director's private physician 
knew it was time to return to Potsdam. He walked down to the nurse's 
station and stood at the counter. The night nurse just smiled at him. 


"Paper and an envelope please." The nurse gave him a pad of hospital 
paper. She opened the drawer in front of her but could not find an envelope, 
so she stood up and turned her back to him as she walked to the back of the 
long and narrow room in search for an envelope. 

It was when her back was turned that the old physician noticed on the 
counter next to his left elbow was a small white enamel hospital tray with 
several small test tubes full of blood samples. One had the professor's name 
on it. 

Before he could stop himself, the old physician grabbed the test tube and put 
it in his jacket pocket. Just then he nurse turned back and looked up at hims. 
In a fluid motion he removed his pen from the same jacket pocket and 
unscrewed the top. 

The nurse walked back to the counter and handed him the envelope. He 
addressed the envelope "C. Krauch, Managing Director, Dyhernfurth, I.G. 

On a piece of paper he wrote the date and then wrote just two words ... I 
quit! He signed the note, folded it in two and tucked it into the envelope 
and sealed the envelope. 

The old man knew for certain he had done the right thing. He could no 
longer attend to monsters such as these. His duty was to save life, but not to 
serve monsters like Schrader. 


Within the hour he was back on the plane flying home. The same pretty 
flight attendant was there for his return flight to Berlin. 

For the first few minutes in the air he had merely stared out the window. 
She noticed he was not upset but about heights or about flying. 

For him to sit and look out the window, it had to be something more 
distressing. And so she asked. To unburden his old and troubled 
conscience, he told her what had happened. 

She listened compassionately as he told her that while it was his Hippocratic 
duty to save the patient, what he was doing was monstrous, and he could not 
be party to such an atrocity. The director had been both right and wrong to 
send him to attend to Professor Schrader - right to have asked him to save 
the man's life, but wrong at the same time to have asked him to save his life. 

As she listened to him speak of his morals and this dilemma, her face 
softened and her eyes moistened. By the time they were on their final 
approach to Berlin she had realized - here was a Prometheus, a tall and wise 
man amongst midgets. 

By the time they were on their final approach to Berlin he had gathered 
enough courage to offer her a place as his private secretary. She was tired of 
what she was doing and tired of the war. His offer was genuine and so she 
accepted his unsolicited offer on the spot. 


As they both walked away arm in arm from the Ju-52, some of the old 
sparkle was back in his eye. Sure, she was young enough to be his 
granddaughter, but he was a doctor for god sakes, and one with a fine 
reputation. And they both had something in common. They both had no 
family left, and were both worried about their uncertain future and what lay 

The director can go to hell with his minion Schrader to show him the way. 
They were all responsible for their actions and he being a moral man was not 
going to help them one any more. He was a good man and when this war 
was finally over they would need good men. 

The old physician might be an old goat, but he knew the old adage that you 
don't butt heads with an old mountain goat. Otherwise you end up being 
pushed off the mountain, and after an awkward tumble down the hill you'll 
end up with nothing more than some bumps on the head and a terrible 

He placed his hand onto the small test tube in his jacket pocket and resolved 
there and then that he would set things right. But what could he do. As they 
made their way to the terminal building a Ford Tri-motor bearing Swedish 
colours and a red cross was making its final approach for landing. 

Oh course! There was one of his old medical students from the class of 
1922 who was now the Dean of Medicine at the University of Stockholm in 
neutral Sweden. Now that he had a traveling companion, travel would be 


easier on his old bones. With his private secretary at hand he might enjoy 
an extended visit to his old student. 

He would talk with the Dean, and the Dean would in turn know who to pass 
the information along to. Besides the Swedish embassy was just a few 
blocks over from his mansion in diplomatic row, and the Swedish 
Ambassador and his wife was one of his patients. 

The night after next the Ambassador and his were hosting a Christmas 
reception and they had sent him an invitation. 

Besides Stockholm is so peaceful at Christmas. 


Chapter 17 - The Okamoto Entente 

The two men sat at their usual table in the corner of the Pig & Whistle pub, 
hidden as they were in full view. They looked at home with their crackers, 
Stilton and Stout. But they also had the comfort of knowing they remained 
hidden as well behind the noise and clamor - no one could listen in to what 
they were discussing. This was the charms of an old English pub. 

"Winston would have kittens if he found us meeting here," said the middle 
aged man with thick glasses. 

Denniston sat opposite Major General Stewart Menzies, C as he was known, 
the head of the Special Intelligence Service, and personal spy of Prime 
Minister Winston Churchill. 

"C ... knowing Winston ... he probably already knows." 

C smiled and nodded in agreement. "He has his fingers in everything." 
Menzies knew that it was really his job to know everyone and everything of 
importance going on within Britain's wartime cloak and dagger world, so 
that when Winston asked he either had the answers at hand or could find 
someone with the answers. 

As old friends they had been meeting informally like this for years and years 
when the need arose. Today was no different. C knew he could rely on 


Denniston, as Denniston knew to rely on his old friend, Menzies. On their 
shoulders lay the fate of millions and they were good Englishmen. 

Menzies took another cracker and cut a thick wedge of Stilton cheese. "We 
have it from a very well place and reliable source that the nips have 
transferred 125 million to their Swiss account from their Swedish accounts." 

C was reserved in matters of intelligence, unless there was something more 
important to be gained by sharing what he knew. Denniston knew to let 
Menzies speak first, otherwise C would merely let the conversation be one 

"Winston is concerned." C took a bite from the cracker. Pieces of Stilton 
and cracker fell on the file on the table in front of him. Menzies did not 
bother to sweep the crumbs off the file. 

Denniston smiled and nodded once. "Winston is always concerned. He 
worries too much." 

"As Prime Minister it is his job to worry." C was annoyed. 

"Listen . . . Winston thinks he is fighting his own personal war here. Well 
he's not. " 

"You know Winston almost as well as I do. War is the ultimate game to him 
and he likes games almost as much as he likes his speeches." 


"Winston might have been all alone when no one wanted the job, but if he is 
not too careful he'll win the war yet lose his home at 10 Downing street . . ." 

"The war is the only thing that matters to him. Once the war is over he 
would much rather go home to the peace and quiet of Chequers and paint." 

"That I don't believe." Both men chuckled, and Menzies raised his tankard 
in acknowledgement before washing down his Stilton and cracker. 

"Any news out of Dulles and the Americans?" Denniston asked the question 
even though he already knew the answer. 

There too it he knew it had been mostly a one way conversation; Dulles the 
OSS chief in Switzerland spoke and it was expected the British listen. But 
the British knew to humour their American cousins. 

In a twist, though it was the British who knew Dulles was new to the game 
and still had a lot to learn. C shook his head. "Winston doesn't want Dulles 
to know. He wants the end game played through Stockholm and not through 
Dulles in Switzerland." 

"That's understandable. The yanks don't know what they want out of this 
war in Europe - Winston does." Denniston agreed. 

"Winston doesn't think Dulles is up to the task does he." C shook his head 
as Denniston took a drink from his tankard of stout. 


"What do you think?" Menzies lifted his tankard to his lips and drank again. 

Both Denniston and Menzies had been read into the Stockholm file. "So 
what is Okamoto up to then transferring the 125 million?" 

"Just following orders I guess. If oF Suemasa didn't do what he was told 
that would draw suspicion. If they recalled him, what use would he be to 


"Denny ..." Menzies looked over his shoulder. There was no one in earshot 
of their conversation. C was annoyed that Denniston had revealed the name 
of their man in Stockholm. 

"Sorry." Denniston wasn't really sorry. He just enjoyed tweaking Menzies' 
nose from time to time. He took a mouthful from his tankard and swished it 
back and forth absent mindedly. 

C was silent. 

Suemasa Okamoto was one of Denniston' s own great successes during the 
war. A Mary Knoll Catholic, as envoy Extraordinaire and Minister 
Plenipotentiary in Sweden since 1941, Ambassador Suemasa Okamaoto was 
providing the allies with eyes inside the enemy's midst. 

Okamoto was a cultivated source within the heart of Japan's diplomatic 
presence in Europe. 


Denniston and Okamoto had both met in 1930 when Okamoto was head of 
the Japanese consulate in Seattle Washington and Denniston was visiting 
friends at the Naval Port near Victoria, British Columbia. 

Denniston had been invited down to Seattle for the July 4 th Independence 
Day celebrations where he "happened upon" the then junior Japanese 

Prior to his Seattle consular appointment Okamoto had served as a junior 
officer in the Imperial Japanese Navy where in 1920 to 1922 he had spent 
time in England being trained by the Royal Navy. 

Okamoto had a soft spot for the British, which he had to secrete away after 
1924 when the new Emperor and his Baden-Baden cohorts had convinced 
the young Emperor to side with the Germans against the British. Since then, 
and at Denniston' s insistence, the British kept a file on him. 

Eleven years later after their Seattle encounter, the two men re-established 
their acquaintance when Denniston undertook a covert mission to Stockholm 
to ostensibly to meet with members of the Norwegian network in 1941. 

That summer, at the entreaty of Winston Churchill, while in Stockholm 
Denniston had accepted an invitation to attend the Swedish Foreign 
Ministry's Independence Day reception, celebrating Sweden's independence 
from Norway. 


The entreaty was pushed upon Denniston because the British Ambassador 
thought it worth their while to "cultivate a deeper relationship with 
Okamaoto." Since the Japanese Ambassador's arrival in Stockholm in 1941, 
Okamoto had made it clear to the British Ambassador that he wanted to be 
on good diplomatic terms with them. 

At their meeting at the reception, Denniston had used the fullest extent of his 
parleying skills to embolden Okamato to do more. Having read his file 
Denniston knew Okamato 's strengths and his weaknesses. 

Suemasa's Catholicism was his great strength and a window into his soul. 
He was deeply disturbed, but in an anguished and private way, as to what the 
Japanese Army were doing as they expanded their hegemony over Asia. As 
an former Japanese Naval officer taught in the Royal Naval tradition, 
Okamato could not stomach the cruelty of the Bushido code and the long- 
term harm the Japanese Army was doing to Japan's place in the pages of 

A few weeks after their 1941 face to face discussion, Okamaoto had begun 
providing Denniston with raw messages. By September 1941 Denniston 
began to develop the Oshima file from the decoded Berlin-Tokyo traffic, a 
file that would grow bigger and become more valuable than all the rest of 
the Europe-Tokyo intercepts, save one set of messages out of Stockholm. 

It was through theses raw messages from Stockholm that in November 1941 
the British learned of the Soviet's Sorge Ring in Tokyo. When Churchill 


became aware of the Sorge Ring he realized its potential as a special source 
intelligence out of Moscow. 

They had been reading Oshima's secret messages and the report Oshima sent 
to Tokyo on April 16 th , 1941 laid the entire invasion plan out for the British 
to read. In the spring and early summer of 1941 Churchill through Moscow 
had warned Stalin of the approaching onslaught of the German's. 

When in June 1941 Operation Barbarossa had been unleashed upon the 
Soviets Churchill had earned a bit of political consideration from Stalin, and 
a new British- Soviet Entente was established to fight "their common devil." 

In Churchill's grand understanding of the world he knew that it was a matter 
of time before the Japanese made another move in the Pacific. Churchill 
convinced Stalin to trade the Barbarossa revelations "for a number of lesser 
jewels" as Winston himself described to Stalin. 

The ruby he got in return was Churchill's greatest wartime secret. The 
Sorge Ring knew of the Imperial Japanese Navy's plan to attack Pearl 
Harbour on December 7 th , 1941. As a result Stalin knew. And he in turn 
had told Winston Churchill. 

But to confirm this and at the same time make the matter deniable, Stalin 
had made arrangements to sail a Soviet Merchantman, the Uritsky, from San 
Francisco to Vladivostok on a track across the Pacific northwest of the 
Hawaii islands. 


As the Soviet freighter sailed across the Pacific it knew to be at a certain 
place at a very specific time to intercept the track of the Imperial Japanese 
Navy's Kido Butai, its grand fleet, on its way to attack Pearl Harbour. The 


two tracks intercepted a few days before December 7 ,1941. 

Japanese Admiral Nagumo did not sink the Uritsky, but let it proceed on its 
merry way. In turn, just over the horizon from Nagumo 's carriers, the 
Uritsky radioed confirmation to Moscow and Stalin in turn informed 

Winston had asked Menzies and Denniston to help him decide what should 
be done with this intelligence. Both C and Denniston had suggested the 
Prime Minister tell the Americans. 

But Winston reminded them that the Japanese never declare war. They 
hadn't in 1905 with their war with Russia and this would be no different. 
They did not care about the niceties of war. 

Winston reminded his two colleagues that "nations do not have friends - 
they have national interests. And oh . . . nations do have enemies." He said 
he would tell the yanks . . . but in his own way and at the most opportune 
time. "Just trust me ..." 

And both C and Denniston let Churchill off the hook. He was their boss, 
and he was their friend. Friendship was a thing for stormy weather . . . 


Winston had been right about Hainan in February 1939, and the Spratly 
Islands. In fact, Winston had been right about the course of Japan's 
expansion up until November 1941. In November 1941 Churchill in turn got 
the Canadians to send troops to Hong Kong and the Australians to stand 
ready to move north. 

At that juncture, nothing could surprise him, not even their plans to attack 
the American Fleet at Pearl Harbour. What he needed was to know what the 
Japanese intended to do about Britain's assets in the region. So he turned to 
C and Denniston. 

Menzies had a few well placed agents in and around Hong Kong and 
Denniston had Stonecutter's Island. They would do their best to stay on top 
of developments. 

Then came December 7 th , 1941 - the day that would live in Infamy ... and 
the war went on, but now with the Americans drawn in, and they had lost 
both Hong Kong and Stonecutters. Winston had been proven right. 

Winston expected even greater things from this entente with Okamoto, and 
Denniston quickly made arrangements through Lieutenant Little and the 
Royal Canadian Navy to listen in to the Europe -Tokyo diplomatic networks 
through Station Point Grey in Vancouver, British Columbia. 

Bletchley Park had been using the Okamoto cribs to break into the Berlin- 
Tokyo, Stockholm- Tokyo, Swiss-Tokyo and Moscow-Tokyo messages with 


greater and greater success until by 1943 Denniston and his code breaking 
team were reading them all. 

What had given Denniston the Station Point Grey idea was an anecdotal 
story that Okamoto had shared of their 1930 encounter and how they had 
promised they would both meet sometime to go fishing for salmon in the 
Straits of Juan de Fuca. 

But Menzies knew none of this. Winston did, but told Denniston to keep the 
Okamoto Entente under wraps. Not even the chaps at Arlington Hall knew 
of the Okamoto Entente. 

The Arlington Hall crew could only wonder which of the Bletchley Park 
resident geniuses stayed up long hours to crack his head against the ultimate 
crossword puzzle and untangle the messages. It was all phonetic, and the 
Japanese language was its own weakness. 

To protect his Stockholm source from the Americans, Denniston had been 
instructed by Churchill to move his Japanese Diplomatic code breakers lock- 
stock-and-barrel from Bletchley Park off to Berkeley Square. As early as 
1942 the Yanks had suspected that Churchill knew of Japan's grand strategy 
in the Pacific. 

To help things along with the Arlington crowd, Denniston would feed them 
a snippet or two of cultivated cribs. It was such a simple arrangement. The 
British would release something to the press in Stockholm. The Swedes 
would publish the press release verbatim. Okamoto would pick up the news 


story and send it verbatim by coded message to Tokyo, and then Denniston 
and his Bletchley magicians had their crib. Denniston would, at their 
weekly meetings with the Liaison officer, selectively share these cultivated 
messages with the code breakers at Arlington Hall. 

The Americans had no clue they were being played by their British Cousins, 
and the Japanese themselves did not know they had a double agent in their 
midst within their Stockholm embassy. 

Denniston knew for certain that his ruse was working when he heard through 
the bush telegraph that the American OSS station chief had shared with 
Dulles, the Swiss OSS station chief, his belief that Okamoto was "Tweddle 
Dee and Tweddle Dumb". Dulles had bought it, lock stock and shot. 

"C ..." Denniston had been silent for many minutes. 

"Yes ..." C knew that Denniston's silence usually meant his next words 
would be of some consequence. "What's your take on the Argentine Option 
the Japanese are now talking about?" 

Menzies took a moment before answering. Before meeting with Denniston 
C had had a short meeting in the cabinet room at 10 Downing street with 

The Prime Minister could give Menzies only a few minutes, but he had 
listened intently and then had set out strict instructions to C. He could still 
see Winston's countenance as he scowled the words ..."help Denny out ... 


but be careful what you say to him . . .once the cat is out of the bag we don't 
know where she'll run off to." 

Perhaps, C thought, he should start by telling Denniston his marching orders. 
"Winston has told me to help you with the Argentine Option . . . but he wants 
me to be very careful." 

"Let me guess, the cat ... the bag . . . and its running off." They both knew 
that this was Winnie's usual spiel when he didn't know what to do and could 
not be bothered to decide. 

C nodded. "We have all heard it before." Menzies felt relieved. It was 
good they both understand each other. It was Churchill's inventive 
indifference at work. 

Denniston threw the first card on the table. "Momi carried the gold they 
needed to pay the Germans for the advanced technology and drawings they 
have ordered from them. We have sent her to the bottom." 

"What about the 125 million then ..." 

"We don't know this for certain but it be their last resort." 

"And the Argentine Option?" 

Denniston was fishing. "Do you have anything in your files on this?" 


Menzies paused, trying to compose a better answer, but nothing could come 
to mind. "Haven't a clue . . . What's your assessment?" 

"This is unofficial . . . but if I were the Japanese ... I would buy all I could in 
the way of advanced weapons and then ship it someplace close and 

C nodded his accordance, "Like Argentina ?" 

"Like Argentina. Given what I now know. That's my take ..." Denniston 
felt safe with his appraisal. 

"And what do you think they are buying?" 

"The whole store, naturally. " 

"Like what?" 

"Rockets, jets, you name it. As much as they can. We have given the PM 
their shopping list." 

"What should I tell Winston?" Menzies was getting ready to leave. 
"We need to keep an eye out for any special shipments out of Bergen. " 
"Aren't we already doing this? 


"We are. The Japanese Navy doesn't have enough time to send another 
submarine from the Pacific to Europe. It will take them too long to transit. I 
think they might ship to Argentina on U-boats. Sort of an express route. 
Then the Japanese can pick things up from there." 

Menzies reached across the table to shake Denniston's hand, almost 
knocking over his nearly empty tankard of stout. 

"Oh . . . before I forget Winston wanted me to give you this." C handed him 
the file that had sat on the table before him. 

"I wondered what you had at hand." Denniston was annoyed. 

"It's our Argentine File. Winston wants you to coordinate through me." 

Denniston dusted the crumbs off its cover and set it down on the table in 
front of him. 

As he started to sort his way through the pages of the file, Menzies 
continued. "You can have the file for the afternoon. I will send my man 
by later this evening to retrieve it." 

C sure knew how the game was played. Denniston didn't have enough time 
to read the file cover to cover. 

"Oh . . . and take care you don't bend the edges." 


Denniston smiled. "Thanks ..." 

As Menzies made his way out of the pub, his two burly body guards stood 
up and took the lead. 

It was good they both understood each other. 

Denniston got up and so did his two Mi-6 body guards. They made their 
way out the back and into the alley. 

"Where to sir..." 

"Back to the barn." The two body guards bracketed him front and back and 
the three men marched up the alley and back to Berkeley street. 

It was just a few minutes past 3:00. That left him just enough time to have 
his people photograph the file, and make his own copy. 


Chapter 18 - Ingeniously Simple. This Might Just Work! 

Although Heinz Klassen could escape from Peenemunde, he could not 
escape his responsibilities as the chief designer of the Was serf all system. 
The films and test reports found him in his temporary office at the 
underground Nordhausen A-4 production facility. They had been delivered 
early that morning by a Luftwaffe officer along with a letter ordering him 
back to Peenemunde. 

It had been six days before someone noticed he wasn't on site and another 
four before they tracked him down. Von Braun had stepped in and deflected 
their Luftwaffe's wrath by concocting a story that a vital issue had 
developed with the A-4 production schedule that required Klassen' s 
presence at Nordhausen, and since the A-4 took priority over all rockets, von 
Braun was told by Berlin he had a few days to "borrow Klassen" from them, 
then he would need "to be returned." 

The first night down in Nordhausen he had drank himself silly with his old 
colleagues. The following morning they had taken him on a toru of their 
production facility. Klassen had mixed feelings, on the one hand proud of 
their technical achievements but less so on the human costs. 

The issue of the emaciated labourers, with their tattered and striped prison 
uniforms, did not fit well with Klassen, but only in so far that Heinz did not 
want to know who they were and where they came from. Someone more 


senior than him had given orders and as a good German, if there was such a 
thing in this war, Klassen thought, he knew to follow his orders. 

But Klassen also knew to ignore the letter for the time being and half- 
heartedly dived into the technical telemetry from the most Wasserfall test 
series. One of five successes was a step forward in their program. 

He would have wished to examine the spent ordinance himself but the 
German navy had been unsuccessful in recovering the spent rocket. They 
claimed it was nowhere to be found and probably at the bottom of the 

Then a few days after the successful test a naval captain had appeared at the 
Mittelwerke sent by Admiral Donitz himself. When they had been 
introduced in von Braun's office Heinz had originally thought perhaps he 
was there to apologize for not locating and recovering the Wasserfall. But 
the man had no sense of humor and when the niceties were behind them, the 
Captain opened his black leather case and laid a set of drawings down on 
von Braun's giant oak meeting table 

There wasn't much of an explanation needed. They were a set of detailed 
drawing for a new class of submarine that was nearing completion at a 
shipyard in Germany. It was a hybrid air-independent electric submarine 
complete with a closed loop Walter hydrogen-peroxide propulsion system, 
with an odd shaped extension to the aft of its conning tower. 


The specifications were astonishing. The endurance and cruise range. It 
was able to travel submerged faster than most allied ships could travel in 

What caught Klassen's attention though in the drawing were the three 
vertical tubes aft of the conning tower that enclosed missiles. He studied the 
drawings carefully. There was no mistaking it. The three tubes were 
designed exactly the same height and shape of the Wasserman. 

He looked up from the drawings and turned and queried "but where is the 

The naval officer queried "... radar ?" 

Klassen flipped through a few more drawings. "The radar needed to guide 
the Wasserfall onto its target." 

"guide . . . target?" 

"The aircraft it is designed to destroy?" 

"Aircraft?" The Captain turned to von Braun. " What is he talking about?" 

Von Braun interjected. "Herr Doctor Klassen has been busy with the 
Lutwaffe version of the Wasserman. Their' s is a Flak-Racketen." 

"Oh ... I see." 


Von Braun turned to Heinz and continued. "You have been so busy with the 
Luftwaffe project that I haven't had the chance to brief you on the Naval 

"Naval Project?" Klassen was perplexed. "Aren't your torpedoes good 

The naval officer shook his head. "Listen, you're A-4 is too big for our 
submarines. Your Wasserfall, on the other hand, is not too big." 

Klassen was still perplexed. "Why would you want to use a A-4 to attack a 

The Captain was startled. "Who said anything about attacking a convoy." 

"I thought ... well I assumed ... that the Navy's interest in the Wasserfall 
had something to do with attacking convoys at sea." 

Von Braun shook his head. "Heinz, if you assume you make an ass of you 
and me." 

Klassen had heard this joke before. "Well ..." He was starting to get 
frustrated and angry. 

"You may be a superb rocket scientists, but you leave much to be desired as 
a military strategist." 


Heinz interjected. "I build rockets. I let you people ..." he waved his hand 
at the Captain " to decide what to do with them." 

Von Braun tapped Heinz on the shoulder and continued "They need a rocket 
they can use as a surface to surface missile system." 

"Warum?" Heinz was speechless. He looked first at his boss then at the 
naval Captain. 

"I don't know. The purpose is on a need to know basis. My job is just to act 
as the technical liaison." The Naval Captain was solemn. 

Heinz turned to von Braun who just shrugged his shoulders. 

The Naval officer continued. "I understand you have four missiles ready for 
firing at Peenemunde." 

Klassen looked at von Braun who motioned he respond. Heinz nodded 
without saying a word. 

"You are to hand them over to the navy," the Captain continued. 

Klassen was about to protest when his boss held up his hand and shook his 
head. "Heinz. .. let them have them." 

"We need them to complete the series test. " 


"Orders from Berlin." 

"What about the Luftwaffe? " 

"Goering has signed an order for the first thirty six Wasserman. They are to 
be deployed to protect the supply lines into the Mittelwerk." 

Klassen went silent and turned to the Captain. He handed Heinz a letter 
marked Streng Geheim. 

As Heinz read the order the captain continued. "Your three Wasserman 
presently at Peenemunde are to shipped as is to the U-Boat base in Bergen. 
The forth one is to be dis-assembled and crated, along with a complete set of 
production drawings and operating specifications." 

"What the hell. Why disassemble a Wasserfall that's ready for launch. Why 
not just take the pieces from a Wasserfall off the production line?" 

"The first three stay with us. We will be fitting them onto our submarine." 

The Captain turned to von Braun and asked, "can I tell him about the 

Von Braun nodded. 


"The disassembled Wasserfall is going to be shipped to Japan. U-864 will 
be taking it along with other equipment, such as jets and the like as part of 
our technology transfer agreement with the Japanese. One of your senior 
engineers is to accompany the fourth rocket." 

"I am not going to Japan." Heinz nearly spat out the words. Heinz just could 
not believe what he was being told. He had toiled for months to make the 
damned thing work and now they were giving them away to all the takers. 
He pulled a chair back from the meeting table and sat down, despondently 
hanging his head in his hands. 

"I wouldn't send you even if they ordered it. You're too valuable to the 
team." Von Braun put his hand on Klassen's shoulder and squeezed. 
"Listen, if it will help you, let me look after the details. " Heinz looked up at 
his boss and tried to smile but all he could manage was a smirk. 

Von Braun walked over to his desk and picked up the telephone and dialed 
out. While he was on the telephone, Heinz took another look at the 
drawings. He began to take a closer look at the proposed design. 
Whomever did the design knew what they were doing. Klassen looked up at 
von Braun and wondered if he had a part in its design? 

When the Peenemunde design team had been asked by the German Navy to 
consider launching a A-4 at sea they had envisaged the whole thing fully 
fueled, and towed behind a U-boat in its own protective shell. When it was 
time to launch the A-4 the base of the launch tube was flooded and the 
missile launched vertically. 


But try as they must, their calculations showed that the launch tube would 
blow apart and the missile flounder in the first half second. The rocket had 
to be launched above the surface of the ocean for it to be launched 

To convince the Navy this was possible, they launched a A-4 off a barge in 
the Baltic. It would have been better if they had been able to launch the 
rocket off a real ship. But the Navy staff had baulked at the idea of risking 
one of their precious ships on a proof of concept. 

The Peenemunde design team had flippantly nicknamed the grandiose Naval 
design the Leviathan, and abandoned it, filing the drawings and design 
studies away earlier in the year. 

But this newer design - the one for the Wasserfall that was spread out in 
front of him on the table - this was simple, ingeniously simple. How come 
he hadn't thought of this? 

The propellants were not to be stored in the rocket but were to be stored on 
storage tanks outside the pressure hull and beneath the deck plates. The 
rockets themselves were to remain dry and sealed inside three tubes with a 
hatch that swung open over the side of the conning tower. The base of the 
launch tubes had blast deflectors that blew away baffles when the rockets 


For the first time since their meeting began, Klassen began to relax. He 
looked up at the Captain. "This might just work!" 

Von Braun heard Heinz's assertion and gave him a thumbs up. Heinz 

The Captain stepped forward. "Here let me explain the basic design of the 
interface between your system and the submarine." 

Heinz listened to the Captain, occasionally asking him a technical question 
or two. After von Braun had finished his telephone call he came to join the 
two of them in their discussion. 

"The Wasserman at Peenemunde will be ready for shipment by 1 600 hours 
tomorrow." Klassen was as surprised as the Captain was pleased by the 
news. "The propellants are being shipped directly to Bergen by air transport. 
They will arrive in two days." 

It was well past 2:00 before their meeting came to an end. They had missed 
lunch but decided the three men decided they would continue their meeting 
over an early dinner. It was even agreed by Heinz over dinner and after two 
bottles of wine that he would return the following morning with the Captain 
to Peenemunde. 

His boss, Wernher von Braun, did not have to insist, it was Heinz who 
insisted. In his inebriated state Heinz repeated over and over again, "This 
might just work!" 


He had become enthralled on the ingenious simplicity of the idea, and 
wanted the Naval project to succeed even more so than the Luftwaffe 


Chapter 19 - We Will Need Forty for Tomorrow 

Otto Ambros, head of the Griin-3 program at the Anogana Gbmf, an I.G. 
Farben subsidiary, grinned as he carefully read the fatality report. He had 
been appointed head in 1942 and had worked without respite over the past 
eighteen months to reach this point in their program. 

The Soman study that he headed had begun during the spring of 1944 and 
carried through the summer as they perfected its chemistry. Then the allies 
landed in France and the Soviets had begun their summer offensives in the 
east. Although they pushed on the entire front, the Soviets were advancing 
most rapidly in the southwest towards South Silesia and Dyhernfurth. 

With everything changing so rapidly, Berlin was insisting on more 
immediate results from Griin-3. Ambros was pleased with their progress 
and knew that Berlin would be as pleased as he was. They had over 12,000 
tonnes now ready to be used on the battlefield and he had signed off on the 
training of the special SS regiments assigned to the nerve agents. 

Otto has just finished reading the report's addendum with the two post- 
mortems was dated January 17 th , 1945. The mortality rate was higher than 
they had estimated based on the development of Tabun, also known as 
Trilon-83, and Sarin. 

Their new compound Soman, or 3,3-Dimethylbutan-2-yl 
methylphosphonofluoridate was far more lethal than its predecessors. 


Its effect on the central nervous system of the test subject had been carefully 
studied using vivisection samples. With Tabun and Sarin their lethality 
studies had been done in a measured and scientific fashion, but with Soman 
they didn't have the luxury of using lab rats and pigs, and other small 
mammals. The war dictated an urgency to their studies and they had used up 
their stock of healthy test subjects from Dyhernfurth concentration camp. 

Half way around the world General Isshi, at Imperial Japanese Army test 
Unit 731, was confirming their Griin-3 findings in his "tests across racial 
lines". Unit 731 had been using Chinese, Russian and American prisoners 
collected from around Harbin in Manchuria or shipped to them under the 
Emperor's authority. 

The reports that Ambros had read of Unit 731 's comparative study showed 
some interesting results. The Chinese subjects, what Ishii called "marut" 
had a higher mortality rate than the American test subjects, fliers shot down 
by the Japanese over Japan, and the Americans had a higher mortality rate 
compared to the Russian test subjects. 

For the past year the Japanese test data from Harbin had been relayed to 
Schrader and Ambros in a series of special scientific reports issued from 
Tokyo through General Oshima in Berlin. 

At Oshima' s request, in January 1945 Ambros had sent a detailed report to 
Ishii. He had also sent a special message to Harbin asking for more 


information about their Russian test subjects. Isshi was slow in responding, 
but Otto knew he might be very busy but would eventually respond. 

Ambros had met Ishii in February 1941 at a special reception in his honour 
at the Germany Embassy in Tokyo during a special trip of scientific and 
military advisors. Then Russia and Germany were still allies, and they could 
freely ship men and materials through Russia to Japan. 

Ambros and his compatriots had traveled across the length and breadth of 
Russia, under an assumed name. It had taken them two week on the rickety 
and monotonous Trans-Siberian railway to travel from Moscow to 
Vladivostok. After a few days delay in Vladivostok, Ambros and his five 
compatriots had set sail by ferry to Niigata, and from there by express train 
to Tokyo. With them was shipped 60 tonnes of modern chemical lab 
equipment, technical reports and chemical precursors for Tabun. 

In Tokyo in February 1941 Ambros and his colleagues participated in a 
series of secret conference with their Japanese Army and Navy counterparts 
who took him on a special tour of Japanese chemical weapon labs 

During his visit was when Otto was told, in the greatest of secrecy, that the 
Japanese had to resort to chemical weapons to stop General Zhukov and the 
Soviet Siberian army at the Battle of Khalkin Gol in August 1939 during 
their undeclared border conflict in May, June and July 1939. The Japanese 
had attack the region thinking it would be an easy victory and the Soviets 
had first stopped the Japanese Army's advanced then counterattacked with 
Tanks and superior numbers of Siberian soldiers. 


When asked by Ambros what they learned from this battle, the most senior 
Japanese Army officer present at their meeting, General Ishii, took him aside 
and quietly but firmly insisted they realized they needed better chemical 
weapons. On behalf of the Emperor, Ishii asked Ambros to make 
arrangements to share their chemical weapons expertise with Japan. 

That evening Ambros sat and over several hours wrote General Ishii a 
thorough personal report about the chemistry of Tabun, Trilon-83, and left 
that for him to work with. Ambros had come prepared for this very request, 
having brought with him the modern chemical lab equipment, technical 
reports and chemical precursors Ishii would need to produce 500 kg of 
Trilon-83 for their research purposes. 

A few months later Ambros received a letter by the trans-Siberian railway 
from Ishii thanking him for the fine gifts, and telling him that the new 
Yamabuki tree they had both planted as a sign of their friendship "was 
growing most promising and would bear flower in the spring. " 

After their February 1941 conference, Ambros had sailed first to Argentina 
on a German cruise ship and then back to Germany. 

His Argentine stopover lasted just two days but there too he was feted by the 
German Embassy and representatives of the 1.25 million expatriate Germans 
in Argentina. Except for the fact that they spoke Spanish, Otto had felt like 
he was at home in his Germany. He also met with the director of I.G. 


Farben, Argentina, who took him on a tour of his modern facility and offered 
to take him on for a sabbatical when he had some free time. 

Then the war broke out and he was too busy to think about free time. He 
had also been busy keeping open his cooperation and technology transfers 
with the Japanese and Isshii in particular. 

Reviewing the Harbin results in light of the two recent post-mortems, 
Ambrose suspected that Ishii's Russian subjects were soldiers captured in 
1939 by the Japanese and kept as forced labourers. They would be in better 
physical conditions than the plain test subjects. 

He needed to know what the mortality rate was amongst Russian soldiers 
and so for the past several weeks they had been testing the delivery 
modalities and their mortality rate using their own Russians. 

Ambros picked up his telephone and called through to Dyhernfurth 
concentration camp. 

He did not wait for any pleasantries but cut immediately to business . . . "we 
will need forty for tomorrow for 0800. . .". He set down the telephone. 

The old ornate clock on the mantle across from his desk chimed six times. 
Otto closed the file in front of him and in haste gathered up his notes and 
pushed them into his brown leather satchel. Dinner time and tonight it is 
schnitzel and dumplings. 


Otto Ambros loved his wife's schnitzel. 

Chapter 20 - Special Delivery 

Susan was handed the envelope at the end of another interminably long and 
uneventful middle watch at Station Point Grey. 

When she was handed it at 0800, Susan realized what had happened and was 
angry that the duty officer hadn't given the message to her immediately 
when it had first arrived at 0200 by special courier. 

In the stillness of the middle of the night, they had heard the motorcycle 
approach. Thinking it might be an operational order, and so she had thought 
nothing of it at the time. 

There had never been a special courier delivery for as long as Susan had 
been on rotation at Station Point Grey. When the courier had arrived she 
had watched the duty officer sign for the special delivery, open the docket 
and then look at the recipient's name with some disquiet. 

It had angered the duty officer that the special delivery message was meant 
for an underling and not him. He had even looked over his shoulder at her. 
With obvious annoyance, he opened the top drawer of his rickety old oak 
desk and all but threw the message in amongst the detritus inside the drawer. 
Then locked the desk drawer. 

Susan knew the message was meant for her and thought it could only mean 
bad news. 


While she sensed something was amiss, dutifully she went about her 
intercept work and had pushed the matter out of her head until she donned 
her jacket and was about to step out the door that the duty officer "happened 
to remember" the special delivery. 

She didn't want to play the game, but if it had to be played then she wanted 
him to at least play by her rules. If she had managed to catch the duty bus 
and he had not delivered the message to her in a timely fashion someone will 
ask why he didn't deliver it when it arrived ... but then again if she left 
without the message it would haunt her for the few hours she was off duty. 
But the first happenchance was a gain, while the second a shame. 

At the last instance, the old bloke called her back and made her wait a few 
minutes as he searched for the proper form and got her to sign for the special 
delivery message in triplicate. With each passing seconds she was getting 
more and more angry with him. But the old bloke dragged his feet. 

She heard her named being called. It was one of the other women on watch. 
She did not answer. The door opened and her compatriot poked her head in. 
"You coming?" 

Susan turned to look at the duty officer. Her compatriot leaning half-in, 
half-out, stood waiting for an answer. The old bloke fumbled. After a few 
more seconds of this farce Susan turned to her friend and shook her head. 
"I guess not . . . best you leave without me". 


Her friend rolled her eyes. "I will call you later" She lammed the door, and 
a half minute later the bus, which had been idling, waiting for her, started to 
drive away. 

His farce meant she missed the duty bus there to take her and her 
compatriots back to Jericho and thence off duty. In an officious manner he 
handed her the form to sign. She looked down at the form. It was a Royal 
Canadian Navy incident reporting form. This was the last straw. 

She wrote two rude words and handed it back to him. He did not even look 
at the form as he set the clip board down at the far edge of his desk and took 
out his ring of keys. He slowly searched through the cluttered ring for the 
key that opened the desk. Funny that he hadn't needed to search when he 
locked the drawer at 2:00. She guessed it was just more of his silly bravado. 

Susan smiled. It struck her that the cluttered ring was a good analogy for the 
man. Fouled up and muddled all at the same time. When he found the key 
he opened the drawer and there on top at an angle was the telegram. She 
could see what it was even before he produced the telegram from inside the 

As she looked at the envelope her heart sank when she thought it might be 
bad news. After handing her the telegram the duty officer picked up the 
clipboard and noticed what she had written. His face contorted and grew 

"What the hell is this!" 


His anger was about to boil over, but she needed to put him in his place. "A 
good naval term . . . appropriate for the occasion!" 

He tore the form and the carbon copy from the clip board and crumpled it 
up. As she stood there, the old curmudgeon deliberately inspected her from 
foot to head before saying "what makes you so special Miss Ross to warrant 
a special courier delivery?" 

Did the old goat have no empathy! Her face began to flush with anger. In a 
moment of pique, Susan decided to yank his chain. "It's for me to know and 
you to find out." 

She tucked the envelope in the pocket of her jacket and stormed out of the 
building and all but tumbled down the stairs. So as to put some distance 
between the building and the old goat she started down the road in double 
time. The tight skirt the Wrens wore just didn't make running possible 
otherwise she would have run like the wind. 

The rocks of the roadway crunched under foot. She continued on her clip 
until she got to the paved road and turned to port. As she walked along the 
shoulder of the road a car slowed behind her and inched alongside. Inside 
was the duty officer. He stopped the car and rolled down the window. 

"Can I give you a lift Ms. Ross?" There was a look of consternation that 
bordered on pity in his face. She shook her head and continued walking 


down the road ignoring him. "Ms. Ross. . . " there was a piteous edge in his 
voice, "let me drive you home." 

She dismissed him with an indignant wave over her shoulder. She was very 
tired and on edge because of the unopened telegram. The last thing she 
really needed was his unwelcomed attention. 

He waited a moment perhaps hoping she might reconsider his offer. But she 
just continued on. He watched her walk down the road, admiring her form 
with the appetite of an unsatisfied satyr. Then he decided to roll up his 
window and drove slowly past her, only stopping for a few seconds at the 
stop sign a short distance up the road. He peered back through his rear view 
mirror and only then understood what a fool he had been. If the news was 
bad he had just made things worse, and there was really nothing he could do 
to make amends. The duty officer had burnt his last bridge with Ms. Ross 
and she would never forgive him. 

She continued walking up the road, but slowed his pace. She did not want to 
have to speak with him again this morning. He had pushed her buttons one 
time too many. It was only after he had turned the corner and had 
disappeared from sight she stopped and took the envelope from her jacket 

Her hands shook as she held the envelope. Her first inclination was to 
crudely tear open the envelope, and pull out its contents, but she hesitated. 
Her mother had taught her to keep her emotions in check when something 
monumental was about to happen. That way she could keep her wits while 


others around her might lose theirs. Rudyard Kipling was one of her 
mother's favourite writers and both Susan and her brother Robert grew up 
listening to Kipling's stories read them at their bedtime. 

As she thought of her brother tears began to well up in her eyes. The tears 
stung in the cold morning wind. She used a fingernail to carefully tear open 
the envelope. If the telegram announced Robert's death she wanted to keep 
it as a remembrance. 

Then she just stood and read the terse message in disbelief. He was alive 
and safe in Stockholm Sweden! Susan did not understand how it was that 
Robert had ended up there, but the few words that he sent her were well 
chosen and conveyed the fact that he was fine not only in body and spirit, 
but in terms of his standing as well - 

"Do not worry/STOP/ am safe and in good company ./STOPAVill write 

The floodgates opened and she began to cry uncontrollably. It must have 
been part relief and part happiness. Relief to finally be told what had 
happened to Robert and happy on being told he was not dead. She read the 
telegram again and then a third time trying to eek out any other nuance in his 
choice of words. The good company. What did he mean by good company? 
Susan started to feel the cold find the crevices in his jacket and she began to 
shiver. Better keep walking she thought. She folded the telegram and 
carefully put it back into its envelope. 


As she walked towards the campus of the University of British Columbia 
she felt a surge of adrenaline. There was just no way she was going home 
and getting any sleep in her state of being. The mixture of euphoria and 
relief mean that she would not be able to lay her head down for many hours 
she needed something meaningful to do to burn up all her emotional 
excessive energy. She started down the road eastward towards the city. 

As she adjusted her jacket against the cold she felt the pinch of the piece of 
paper she had folded and carried in her brassiere. Perhaps today would be 
the day to play detective. It was a Sunday morning of an academic term and 
she guessed that the UBC main library might be open. If it wasn't, so be it. 
She had to walk that way anyhow and so one way or another she would get 
where she had to be. If she happen upon a telephone she would phone her 
mother with the good news about Robert. 

As she walked along at a distance she could see first the roof and then the 
third floor of the library. It stood out as a beacon at the centre of the 
University of British Columbia. She slowed her pace a bit as she started to 
wonder again about the numbers on the small piece of paper. They were 
perhaps page numbers and maybe numbers to a series of footnotes, 
equations and the like. 

Absent mindedly, as she approached the main entrance of the library, across 
the concourse were a number of officer cadets drilling with Lee Enfield 
rifles. A young Lieutenant Colonel was commanding the drill. As she 
approached the squad, the officer brought them to attention and ordered they 
"shoulder arms". 


She realized to get to the front entrance of the library, she would have to 
pass before the Lieutenant Colonel and his officer cadets. There was no 
escaping it. 

Before she knew it the young Lieutenant Colonel had ordered they "Present 
arms!" She returned the salute and had no choice. She marched up to the 
young Lieutenant Colonel. He had a big grin on his face. 

"Good morning Navy." 

"Sir ..." She read his name tag. "I should be saluting you Colonel Shrum." 

"It's good you happen to come along. Would you like to inspect the 
troops?" His smile said something subtle. She did not have a choice. 

"Colonel, I was just on my way to visit the library." 

"The library doesn't open for another two hours." 

Susan could not hide her disappointment. Being a good judge of character, 
Colonel Shrum smiled. "Listen, as it happens I have the keys to the place. 
If you help me out, I will open the library for you. My cadets could use the 
practice. " 

"If you wish Colonel." It was a polite response. Susan felt she could as 
easily just continued on her way home. 


The Colonel turned to his squad and order an opening of ranks and then he 
led her on an inspection of the two ranks. The front rank was well turned 
out, but hidden away in the second row were a few cadets whose uniforms 
were not pressed and whose boots did not gleam with the shine of their 
peers. She passed the first of these hoping he was the only exception, but 
when she got midway through the second row she stopped and turned to one 
of the cadets. 

The young man wore bottle cap glasses and had a serious grin on his face. 
Susan remembered the way that her duty officer had inspected her from foot 
to head and she put the same scowl on her face and inspected the young 
man's deportment. 

In her most stern voice she asked "when was the last time you shined those 
boots of yours? " 

"This morning sir." There was a nervous warble to his voice. 
Susan scowled "Do I look like a sir." 

The young cadet looked down and then quickly up again and blushed. " I am 
sorry .. mam." 

Behind her the Colonel bellowed "You're an officer son . . . you are never 
sorry, and never wrong." 


Susan glanced back at the Colonel. These words amused Susan, but she 
didn't show it. The effect on the young cadet was unexpected. A look of 
shock and disbelief passed over his face. He physically stiffened and the 
rifle he held started to skew to the right. 

She reached out for the rifle with her right hand and straightened it. As she 
did this she softly spoke to the young cadet. "Cadet ... relax ." She smiled 
and sensed that slowly the cadet began to relax. 

The colonel turned to the cadet and spoke firmly. "The next time you turn 
out for my parade you make sure you properly polish your boots." 

The cadet responded stiffly. "Yes sir." 

"To make amends you will be seconded to this Wren officer for the rest of 
the day until 1600, or until she relieves you." 

"Yes sir." The cadet responded directly. 

Colonel Shrum continued. "Turn out, surrender your rifle to the sergeant 
and report at the door of the main library." 

"Sir." The officer cadet shouldered his rifle, took a step back and then 
marched off to the sergeant and handed him his rifle. 

Susan continued her inspection. She slowed her step and began to take note 
of the creases in their tunics and the shine of their boots and buttons. Most 


of the boys were so young that they had not yet begun to shave. She knew 
they would soon be fighting and she felt uncomfortable and could barely 
look the young men in the face. 

At the end of the inspection she saluted the young Colonel and looked into 
his warm eyes. After returning the salute the Colonel motioned for her to 
wait with his finger as he dug a ring of keys out of his trouser pocket. He 
separated one of the keys form the ring and tossed it to her. 

"Give the key to the cadet when you get to the door of the library. Andrew 
is not much of a soldier but he is one of the better archivists here at the 
library. He should be able to help you find what you are searching for." 

She nodded and started to walk away. It seemed odd to her how he knew 
she was in search of something ... As she walked away Susan did not turn 
back for she sensed that two dozen pairs of eyes following her as she walked 
to the steps of the building. 

Not being a student at the university it seemed odd to Susan to visit an 
academic library on a Sunday afternoon. As she ascended the limestone 
front stairs she looked up and noticed the two gargoyles flanking the corners 
of the building. They seemed to go well with the Anno Dominus 1925 
chiseled across the arch at the front of the building. The building had a 
medieval Scottish feel to its design. 

The cadet was waiting for her and saluted smartly. She handed the key to 
the officer cadet, who proceeded to open one of the doors. He walked a few 


steps into the cold and empty building. When he found the light switch the 
building interior lit up. 

He returned to the door and held it open for her. "Mam," he motioned her to 
enter. She had trepidations as she stepped into the main library at UBC. 
Before she walked through the door Susan turned back and looked over her 
right shoulder. The cadets were once again marching. The Colonel was 
off to one side watching the parade but really he was watching her at the top 
of the stairs. 

The library stood in the middle of a large and open concourse. To the 
southwest Susan Ross could clearly make out the radio towers at Station 
Point Grey, and just past the towers the Strait of Juan de Fuca. 

She stepped inside the lobby. He let the door close and lock behind then and 
then directed her up the stairs into the lobby of the main hall. In front of 
then was a set of index boxes and a few large oak tables. 

As the young man continued, "how can I be of assistance ..." 

She could not remember all the numbers and needed to extract the piece of 
paper to work off of. There was only one thing to do. "Before we begin . . ." 

"yes mam." 

"I need to spend a penny." 


The young cadet smiled and led then down the stairs to the basement 
vestibule. A sign pointed "women" to the left and "men" to the right. 

As she disappeared to the left, she glanced back and saw the young man 
disappear into the other washroom. When he disappeared around the corner 
he called back "no need to rush." 

When she entered the washroom she turned on the light and closed the dark 
oak door behind her. The air was cold and damp and had that familiar 
antiseptic smell to it. All she really needed was a moment to extract the 
paper and collect her thoughts. She took off her coat and placed it on a 
brass hook next to the door, walked over to the white porcelain sink and 
turned on the hot water and let the water run for a half minute. 

When she saw some mist rising from the faucet she brushed her hands 
quickly under the water to warm them up. Then she turned off the tap and 
patted her hands dry at the towel dispenser before looking up into the mirror 
over the sink. The mirror was partly covered in mist. 

She rubbed her forearm across the mirror to clear away the mist. As she 
looked at herself in the mirror Susan felt uncertain. She looked drawn out 
and tired. As she studied her face she began to ask herself whether what she 
was doing was right. Susan turned away from the mirror and peered down 
into the porcelain sink. The lamps overhead reflected in the glassy white 
veneer of the sink. She studied the reflected light. 


After a few seconds Susan turned the water back on and watched the water 
swirl down into the drain. The swirling water reflected in some way her 
own apprehension. When the mist once again began to rise in the cold air 
Susan splashed some water into her face. The hot water felt good on her 
cold cheeks. She splashed some more water, then turned off the tap. 

She cleared the mirror again and looked at herself in the mirror. There were 
drops of water rolling down her cheeks. They looked to her like tears. She 
watched her reflection as she let the water roll off the bottom of her chin. 

Susan patted her cheeks with her hand. She noticed that the colour had 
begun to return to her cheeks. Her returning colour gave her courage. 

She opened the top two buttons on her tunic and pressed her hand in against 
her breast. Her hand felt cold against her own skin and brought up goose 
bumps. Susan extracted the paper. As she did this in the mirror she noticed 
the awkwardness of the cold and the moment. She did not know whether it 
was anticipation or the cold, but her breasts were responding to the stimulus. 

Susan started to blush. She glanced at the numbers again before she put the 
folded piece of paper into her pocket and then quickly buttoned up her tunic 
before walking over to the door to retrieve her coat. 

As she put her tunic back on Susan hoped that he would not notice her 
awakened state. She turned the light off then opened the door. The 
hallway was empty. She started up the stairs and saw the young cadet 
waiting for her at the top of the stairs. 


"How can I help you mam." 

"It's Andrew isn't it?" Susan was always better with names than with ranks. 
The cadet nodded. "And perhaps we can dispense with the mam. It makes 
me feel old." 

He stuttered .... "Lieutenant?" The cadet was trying hard. 

Susan smiled. "My name is Miss Ross." The cadet nodded. 

"How can I be of assistance ..." he was obviously nervous ... "Miss 

"Andrew. Can you show me to the chemistry section? I have a few things I 
would like to look up." Andrew nodded, turned and proceeded up one of the 
limestone stairs that flanked both sides of the entrance lobby. He was 
obviously happy to be in his element again for her almost skipped up the 
stairs. When they got near the top of the stairs it opening up into a grand 
hall, and the stairs took a sharp turned to the right then a few more steps to 
the main floor. The room had a vaulted ceiling perhaps twenty metres high 
made of oak. The unheated air was cold and crisp. In the hollowness and 
silence of the place their steps echoed off the walls, the card catalogue boxes 
in the centre of the room and across the ceiling. 

Above hung six large lantern lights that lit the room rather adequately. On 
the green linoleum floor beneath the lamps were light patterns in the shapes 


of Scottish thistles cast by the lamp from above. She stopped for a moment 
and looked around. The large room struck Susan as being both cathedral 
and medieval at the same time. The young cadet continued on across the 
room until he came to an oak door in the limestone wall. He walked through 
the door and then waited for her. 

She followed him across the grand room through one of the arched portals 
into the stacks. The library stacks, like most of the rest of the building was 
made from dark oak. The moment she walked through the door she knew 
she was in a library. The air was heavy with the strange mix of musty air 
and mildew that old books seem to exude. 

She stopped beside him. He flicked on some switches and lights went on in 
part of the stacks. "It's ahead and to the right, Miss Ross I will lead the 

He walked confidently ahead with her in tow past two lengths of shelving, 
turning right and proceeding down one more stack. Then he stopped and 
turned to port. "Here we are ... chemistry." 

As Susan came up to the shelves she began to realize what work lay ahead. 
There were dozens of texts and special chemical handbooks. Where was she 
going to start? 

It was Andrew that gave her a clue where to start. "Physical chemistry or 
organic chemistry?" Her sixth sense told her the later. "Organic ..." 
Andrew shuffled over a few metres then stopped. "Here we go Miss Ross 


... Organic Chemistry." She stood before the rows and rows of unfamiliar 
books with unfamiliar titles. 

"Is there a book in particular that you are looking for?" 

Susan slowly shook her head. "I should be able to manage from here thank 
you Andrew." 

"Would you like some tea Miss Ross?" The thought of a nice cup of tea 
brightened her spirits. She smiled and nodded. 

"I will go brew you some tea and bring it up to you." There are some tables 
at the end of the row." He pointed down the stacks. Please feel free to take 
the books you need to the tables. 

"Andrew . . . when you come back with the tea can you bring me some paper 
and a pencil." 

"With please Miss ..." He did not finish his sentence before dashing off 
leaving her alone in the stacks. She had perhaps ten minutes before he 
would return. She started to quickly read the titles of some of the organic 
chemistry books before one in particular caught her eye. It had a new spine 
and a German title and German author . . . Schrader. 

She took the piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it. There were 
the numbers written down the edge. 


345 12 
342 6 

346 3 
352 6 
342 1 
344 7 

Susan pulled the book off the shelf and opened it 

to page 345 . . . and noticed there was an equation 12 on that page. Next she 
went to page 342 and again found an equation 6, then an equation 3 on page 
346 and an equation 6 on page 352. By now her heart was racing. On page 
342 there was an equation 1 and then on page 344 an equation 7. 

"My God ..." she had said the words before she had realized she had 
spoken. The equations were for an organophosphate pesticide .... She 
flipped back to the title page and then the next page. The text had been 
published in 1938 in Berlin at Springer Verlag. 

Just then she could hear Andrew returning and so she grabbed several books 
in random off the shelf and made her way to the table at the end of the row. 
Susan has just enough time to set the books down before Andrew reappeared 
holding two steaming mugs of tea, one in each hand and a pad of paper 
under his arm. A pencil was tucked behind his ear. 

"I didn't known if you took milk or not and so I brought one with and one 


"Milk please." He handed her the teacup with milk and set his cup down on 
the table. Then he handed her the paper and pencil. 

"Any luck Miss?" 

She tried to sound convincing . . . "no" . . . but it didn't really sound so. 
"Maybe I can help?" 

"That's fine . . . you must have something more important to do." 
"No really Miss Ross." 

"Can you come and collect me in a half hour?" Andrew looked at his watch 
"A half hour?" He sounded disappointed. Susan nodded. 

Andrew shrugged his shoulders and then picked up his teacup and made his 
departure. Susan was glad to be alone. When he was out of sight she picked 
up the Beck text and opened it to page 345. She set it down in front of her, 
took a sip from the tea then took the paper and pencil in hand and began to 
transcribe chemical equation 12 down with annotations. 

For the next half hour she went through the list of pages and equations doing 
the same thing. Just as she was finishing she had someone stirring in the 


Without looking up she spoke "I said a half hour The voice that 

responded wasn't that of Andrew but that of Colonel Shrum. 

"I see you hard at work Miss Ross." She looked up startled. "Colonel . . . 
what a pleasant surprise." It was a surprise but hardly a pleasant one for 
Susan for standing beside her was a Lieutenant Commander RCN and he 
was glaring at her with his piercing blue eyes. 

"Miss Ross . . . what pray tell are you doing?" 

Susan was startled. She had been caught at the act. Without looking down 
she slowly lifted the Schrader textbook and closed it and then placed it 
closed back on the table, making sure the spine pointed away from the two 
men. With her left hand she gathered together the sheets of paper and with 
her right she pushed the textbook away from her. 

She did this in a casual and unhurried fashion all the time looking up at the 
two men. "Who are you, sir?" She had her gaze set on the Lieutenant 

"Miss Ross, what are you doing?" His words were spoken in a firm and 
meaningful fashion. 

She stood her ground. "I cannot tell you . . . sir." 

"Why not Lieutenant?" The RCN officer had an edge to his word. 


Susan was not about to roll over and play dead. "It's way above your 
security clearance." 

The Lieutenant Commander eyes narrowed. He set down the black leather 
satchel on the table and placed his hand within his jacket. Susan began to 
panic for she thought he was reaching for his Webley. She shifted her 
weight to her knees and placed her hands against the edge of the table, ready 
to push back from the table. 

He sensed her automatic fight or flight response. "Stand down Lieutenant. 
I am unarmed." She settled back down on the chair. The RCN officer 
turned to the Colonel. "Thank you Colonel." 

Colonel Shrum nodded at the RCN officer and set off back into the stacks. 
Susan and the Lieutenant Commander were now alone. 

From his jacket the Lieutenant Commander extracted a black leather wallet 
and opened it for her to examine. Above his name Little and rank she saw 
the bold blue letters at the top of his credential RCN Naval Security Unit 
Four. "May I sit?" She nodded and but did not relax. 

"Listen, Lieutenant Ross. I know who you are, who you work for and what 
you do." 

Susan stayed silent. 


"We are just wondering what you are doing?" With those words he opened 
his satchel case and extracted two dockets. One was a personnel file and the 
second was a plain beige file folder with a string clasp. He set her personnel 
file at his right hand and the beige file to his left. 

The Lieutenant Commander began to slowly drum the personnel file with his 
fingers. Susan looked down at the docket and noticed her name on the file. 
Then he sat looking at her. 

"Listen . . . Lieutenant Commander ... I do not know you. I have signed the 
Official Secrets Act." The RCN officer did not say a word, but opened the 
beige file and extracted a message form. There was pinkish-red inscription 
on it that was a jumble of numbers . . . her numbers. 

She was alarmed. "Where did you get that?" 

"Isn't it obvious! My job is the security of Station Point Grey. I have been 
asked by my superiors to find out what it is you are doing." 

Susan felt her body temperature started to rise as adrenaline kicked in. her 
cheeks grew warm. She studied the face of the RCN officer and noticed that 
his sternness was fading. 

"Miss Ross . . . your work is superb. The best at Station Point Grey. This is 
why we have you on the most important circuit." He looked at the books in 
front of her. 


"If I didn't know better ... I would think you are also very good at solving 
puzzles." She smiled. 

"Is that it? You have a mind that needs to solve puzzles?" 

Susan sensed he was to be trusted and so she nodded. 

He smiled. "Fine ... show me what you have." As Susan walked him 
through her assessment he took notes. He asked her a few questions. 
Nothing really technical, mind you. 

It took perhaps twenty minutes and when they were finished he gathered his 
notes and asked her for all the material she had at hand. He also gathered up 
the Beck textbook and placed it in his satchel along with the other items. 

"Listen Miss Ross ... It is evident you mean no harm, but damn it ... 
security is at a premium here. Under the security rules I can have you 
arrested or even shot!" 

Susan's throat tightened. She had been briefed along such lines before but 
thought it was just bravado. She tried to swallow but couldn't. He pushed 
the tea cup to her and she took a sip. The tea was tepid but welcomed 

"But this time I will let you off with a verbal warning. Here is my card. In 
future if you have any suggestions as to how to analyze or assess the 
materials you are intercepting, please call this number and ask for me." 


"Yes ... Lieutenant Commander." 

"Here let me walk you out." They left the remaining books on the table and 
walked out of the stacks. When they entered the foyer of the Main lobby, 
Colonel Shrum was sitting reading a newspaper. 

When the Colonel saw the two of them entered the foyer he snapped the 
newspaper shut and sprang out of the chair, causing the oak chair to topple 
over. The noise it made rattled around the cold and cavernous room. 

"Everything is fine Colonel. I will look after Miss Ross. Lieutenant ..." 

The young officer cadet was waiting across the room leaning awkwardly at 
the far wall. "Sir!" 

"Gather up and re-shelve the books. I will retain one the books for the time 
being for further research. Miss Ross was undertaking special research for 
the Royal Canadian Navy." 

The Colonel smiled and nodded knowingly. The Lieutenant Commander 
continued. "Son . . . you have signed the Official Secrets Act?" 

"Yes sir." 

"Fine ... we were not here today . . . you do not know Miss Ross . . . none of 
this happened. Do I make myself clear?" 


"Sir ..." There was a nervous warble in his voice. The Lieutenant 
Commander pointed into the portal and the young cadet scurried across the 
foyer and into the stacks to retrieve the books. He then turned to Colonel 

"Colonel ... I will drive Miss Ross home." The Colonel lead the way 
across the foyer, down the limestone stairs and opened the front doors to let 
Miss Ross and the Lieutenant Commander out of the main library. There 
were a few university students waiting for the library to open. Parked in the 
front of the library on the concourse was a light blue RCN sedan. 

When they appeared the driver sprang out from behind the wheel and 
opened the back door, standing to attention as the two of them approached. 
Then he saluted them. The Lieutenant Commander let Susan return the 
salute then motioned her to enter the back seat of the sedan. He followed 
her after she had made herself comfortable. In the few seconds before the 
driver got back behind the wheel he asked "have you had breakfast yet?" 

She shook her head. "Neither have I." The driver got in to the car and in 
one fluid movement shut the door and started the motor at the same time. 

"Michael ..." 

The driver responded " Sir . .." 

"Michael, where can one get a good breakfast on a Sunday morning?" 


"What did you have in mind . . . sir?" 
"Eggs, toast, coffee . . . nothing fancy." 

The driver glanced up in the rear view mirror before responding, taking a 
second to look Miss Ross over. "Lieutenant Commander, there's always the 
restaurant at the Hotel Vancouver." 

"Do you think we will need reservations?" 

"I know the chef ... he'll get you in." 

"Well Miss Ross." 

"Lieutenant Commander ... as long as I can be at church by 1100." Susan 
liked the easy going nature of the RCN officer. It was then she noticed the 
fourth finger on his left hand was without a ring. He noticed she was looked 
at his empty ring finger. 

"The Hotel Vancouver it is." The driver put the car in gear and started to 
drive away from the Main Library. 

The RCN officer set his satchel on the floor at his feet. As always, Michael, 
you come through." 


As Susan looked back at the building she noticed the Colonel leaving the 
Library. But she also noticed he held the door open for the students who 
were making their way into the building. 

"Lieutenant, I understand your brother is safe and sound in Stockholm." She 
nodded. "You must be very happy with the news." She smiled. Her eyes 
began to tear. She turned away. He offered her his handkerchief, which she 

Susan did not know where the tears came from. Whether it was happiness or 
stress, or whether because she was hungry and dead tired, but for the first 
time since the surprise of her discovery, Susan felt safe beside the Lieutenant 

She took his arm and gave it a silent hug. He understood. 


Chapter 21 - Ship through Dresden 

Schrader was back at work twenty days after his nearly fatal accident. In his 
absence, his lab had been scrubbed clean and he had been assigned a new 

As he stepped through the door for the first time since the accident his chest 
was tight with apprehension. It took him a few seconds to orient himself 
and bring his apprehension under control. 

He had been told that his new assistant had been "continuing the work 
schedule" but nonetheless they had lost precious time with the accident and 
the clean-up. 

In his absence, the Harbin report had arrived and had sat unattended to for 
over a week unread by both Schrader and Otto Ambros. The report from 
General Isshi and translated into German was waiting for him on his desk in 
a sealed envelope. It had arrived in Berlin by Japanese Diplomatic Message 
and had been translated first before sent to him by motorcycle courier. 

When he opened the envelope and started to read it Schrader set everything 
else aside but the report. Ishii's findings from Harbin confirmed Ambros' 
and his estimates. Their model was valid. 

When he finished reading the Harbin report and was thinking about it, he 
absent mindedly glanced through the daily log. Their accident had happened 


on the 4 of January, and the lab had been left unattended for several days 
until it was cleaned the 12 th through 16 th . It took a week to bring the lab 
back on stream and now it was the 24 th and he was back, but for how long? 

In the middle of January 1945 it became apparent to the Dyhernfurth staff 
that it was just a matter of time before their estimates might be put to the 

During the previous month of December, the final month of the long and 
disappointing year 1944, the German army, during their Ardennes offensive, 
had all but used up their precious stock of new Tiger tanks. The Ardenne 
battle had only slowed the allies by a few weeks. 

On the Eastern front, the Soviet steamrolling continued unabated. Even the 
Herr Doktor understood what was now facing the Soviets in Silesia were a 
ragtag collection of older Panzers, and a slowly diminishing stock of brave 
and seasoned soldiers. In his measure, the Tigers should have gone east. 

For the past two or three days, at the coldest time of the night they could 
clearly hear the distance thunder of Soviet artillery. They could also see the 
flashes of the shells. There had been a trickling stream of replacement 
soldiers eastwards through Dyhernfurth, and a growing and much greater 
number of wounded soldiers traveling back home to Germany. 

The I.G. Farben director gave them perhaps three weeks before they would 
need to evacuate westward as well. They needed to complete their research, 


finish their reports, pack them into crates, ship the tonnes of special 
document out and then shut down the lab. 

He lifted a second envelope, this one unsealed and containing a single page 
and removed its content. Even before he unfolded the letter he knew its 
content. Through the paper he could see the red stripe and the director's 

He looked up and around the room before he unfolded the letter and began 
to read the official document. Yes, he was right. The letter was from 

The I.G. Farben Director was making plans to ship him and his stock of 
Tabun, Sarin and Soman - all 12,000 tonnes - westward and close the 
Dyhernfurth facility, camps and all. Schrader knew what this meant. The 
camp workers were working around the clock filling the last of the artillery 
shells and mortar rounds and crating them. 

Their order was to ship through Dresden to the Bavaria Redoubt, for the big 
offensive the Army High Command was planning for the spring of 1945. 

The shells full of Tabun, Sarin and Soman only had a six month shelf life, 
before their chemicals began to decompose and lose their lethality. After six 
months the shells would lose % 5 of their lethality a month, and all their 
lethality within two years. 


The plan was therefore to have the first shipment ready for transit through 
Dresden by no later than the 15 th of February. The whole shipment of their 
stock of Tabun, Sarin and Soman was to be in Bavaria by the end of 

Schrader noticed at the bottom of the page a small hand written note. It took 
him a moment to sort out what the hand written note said: "Ten tonnes each 
of Tabun, Sarin and Soman in secured storage containers are to be handed 
over to the German Navy for shipment to Bergen Norway. This shipment is 
to come first and be on its way no later than February 1 st ." 

He did not recognize the signature, but the stamp looked officious and 
ominous. Once this smaller shipment left the Dyhernfurth facility it would 
be the responsibility of the German Navy. 

He carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. Then he 
picked up the telephone and asked the switchboard operator for a long 
distance line. 

As he waited he thought, well, things are pretty clear. One way or another, 
his research work here at Dyhernfurth was soon to come to an end, and there 
was no reason for him to stay here. There was not much more he could to 
improve the lethality of his creations. There was also nothing he could do to 
stop the inevitable soviet push westward. It was time for him to leave. 

The operator came back on the line. "All long distant lines are presently 
unavailable." The very feminine voice soothed his disappointment. He 


asked her to call him back when and if a long distance circuit becomes 

Schrader got up from his desk and walked over to the window. It was 
snowing outside. Of all the seasons of the year, he liked winter the best. As 
he watched the snowflakes drift down past the window he noticed the flakes 
were big and fluffy. 

As a little boy his grandfather had taught him how to gauge the temperature 
by the character of the snow flakes. His grandfather had also taught him 
how to cross country ski, a sport he had missed doing for many years. He 
looked carefully at the flakes and estimated it was around 10 below. 

He bent down a bit and looked through the window and up into the sky. The 
sky was blanketed by grey clouds in its entirety. He knew by the clouds that 
it would snow for the rest of today and probably into the next. 

He looked at his watch as he turned back to survey his lab. Schrader had 
worked here for nearly a decade and soon he would have to leave its familiar 
surroundings. The director, he thought, would not doubt order its 
destruction, but Schrader would not be around to witness his domain's 

Once he had cleared it with Berlin, he too would make his way to Bavaria 
and home. His father-in-law had a farm and he needed to disappear. He 
hadn't seen his wife and family for nearly a year and he was tired, not 
merely because of his accident but because of the war itself. 


He had done his duty, but if the Army used his creation, and he felt that this 
was inevitable, he didn't want to be anywhere where he could be found. The 
further away he was from this place the better. 

As he looked back over his desk he noticed the picture hanging on the wall 
of him standing with the Director of I.G. Farben, Argentina. It had only 
been a few years ago, but his trip to Japan and his stop in Argentina seemed 
a lifetime ago. 

The telephone rang. His assistant started to the telephone but Schrader 
motioned him off. He picked up the receiver. 

The soft, soothing feminine voice of the switchboard operator once again 
filled the earpiece. "I am so sorry Herr Doktor, No long distance telephone 
lines will be available until tomorrow morning at the earliest." 

Schrader said nothing but softly placed the telephone receiver into its cradle. 
He picked up the letter from the director and the Harbin report and put them 
both into his satchel. He took off his white lab coat and hung it on his hook 
next to the door. 

As he did this he noticed that they had forgotten to take the name tags of his 
now deceased assistants down. Schrader remove both of the paper tags 
from their brass holders and slowly and meticulously tore them in half and 
let the pieces of paper fall at his feet. He felt nothing as he did this, not even 


remorse. They were dead and there was nothing anything could do about 

He tucked his satchel under his arm and walked through the door, not telling 
his assistant when he would be back. He could not tell him because he did 
not know when himself. 

As he walked down the dark and empty hall Schrader did not look back. 
The sounds of his footsteps echoed off the walls. This place use to be 
teaming with life but now all the labs were empty and all of his colleagues 
were gone. They had fled westward away from the front. Were it not for his 
accident he would have done the same thing by now. 

As he got closer and closer to the stairs at the end of the hall his pace 
quicken. The whole matter was now out of his hands. 


Chapter 22 - Rockets on New York 

Reich Minister of Production Albert Speer's January 1945 radio address set 
off alarm bells in both London and Washington: "V-l and V-2 rockets will 
fall on New York by February 1 st , 1945" he had boasted. 

Denniston had a copy of Speer's radio address in front of him as he spoke on 
the secure telephone with C. They both talked about whether V-l 's could be 
used in such an attack, or the small rocket that had recently fallen on 
Sweden, but there was no way that in the next few weeks the Germans could 
launch a V-2 against New York. 

"What about scaling the V-2 up or that other thing . . . what did the experts 
call it? Menzies was curious 

"staging . . .", Denniston responded. 

"Yes . . . staging the rocket?" 

Denniston was very skeptical. "All this research takes time. I would place 
my money on the V-l or perhaps that little rocket, the one with the wings 
and storable propellants." 

C responded. "You mean the Wasserfall?" 


"Yes." Denniston opened a file on his desk and extracted a message form. 
"I have a decrypted German Navy message in front of me saying that they 
have shipped four Was serf all rockets to Bergen." 

"and ..." 

"Three of them are fully assembled, tested and ready to be fired. The fourth 
is disassembled and in the crate awaiting shipment to Japan. 

"But why the Wasserfall? It has such a short range and such a small 

"Well maybe the German don't plan to use conventional warheads against 
New York?" 

"What do you think they may use as warheads on these rockets if they do 
launch them against New York?" Menzies asked. 

"Well ... I can only speculate, and you know I do not like speculating." 
Denniston was rarely one to speculate. He knew the necessity to speak in 
terms of hard facts. It is hard facts that wins battle and wars, not 

Menzies got insistent. "Winston wants to know what you think." 

"Well ... to be perfectly honest . . . tell him I think Speer is playing some sort 
of a spiel." Denniston felt safe in saying this in that this was rather obvious. 


"Tell me something I don't know." Menzies waited a few seconds then 
asked. "Has he done something like this before?" 

"What?" Denniston was prevaricating, hoping he would change the tack. 

"Go on the radio and be so ridiculous?" Menzies encouraged him on. "Why 
do you think he is doing this?" 

"While Speer is within the inner circle, he is not like the others around 
Hitler, like Goebbels, Goering or Himmler. Speer is both rational and 

"Then why is he being so irrational in this broadcast." 

"I haven't read the other addresses, only this one." Denniston quickly leafed 
through his file. "Speer has been on the radio a few times in the past six 
months but mostly to encourage German workers to continue their efforts. 
But be incredible, not that I know of." 

"Me neither." C continued. "I have read his psych profile. Speer cares about 
his reputation." 

"Maybe the Germans have caught wind of the atomic bomb research going 
on in America?" Denniston knew of Germany's interest in and research on 
atomic energy. 


"Maybe they have. I don't know if you are aware, but the Germans landed 
two spies by U-Boat near New York a few weeks back by submarine and 
they were instructed to seek out the 'Manhattan District' and atomic bomb 
research. " 

"Really! No I didn't know. No one tells me anything." Denniston was 
chuckling at his end of the line. 

"Winston thinks that the cat was out of the bag and we have caught two mice 
with our mouse trap. The Germans evidently knew of the Manhattan 
project." Menzies had been told by Churchill to tell Denniston about the 
German spies. 

"The American Manhattan District ploy has yielded a catch. Sure beats our 
Tube Alloy ..." Denniston always thought Tube Alloy was a silly 

"Denny ... the FBI has its largest field office in New York and so it was an 
easy mouse trap for them to set. Besides it's Hoover's old stomping 
ground." Menzies had met Hoover but Denniston had not, and he had been 
thoroughly briefed about Hoover and the FBI in New York by British 
Security Coordination. 

"So we have to assume the Germans know what we are up to, not suspect . . . 
but know." Denniston was following C's reasoning. 


"I think that would be a wise assumption, and is an idea that is held by 

"It would rational then for Speer to talk of reprisal then . . . merely to deter us 
from bombing Germany with atomic bombs?" 

"Maybe . . . but it is highly unlikely they will have an atomic bomb ready 
before the war in Europe comes to an end. He doesn't have anything he can 
throw at New York directly from Germany does he?" 

Denniston responded firmly. "My people tell me that they might have a long 
range bomber, but not a rocket directly from German, but maybe they can 
jury rig something with the V-l's or Wasserfalls and launch them off U- 
boats. . . what do you think?" 

"It's possible." Menzies voice did not sound convincing. "But there may be 
other possibilities." 

"What are these other possibilities?" Denniston was curious. 

"Well, they probably won't be able to build an atomic bomb, but there is 
always a radiological weapon, or chemical weapons or even biological 

"We have known about these possibilities for quite a while Denny. Why 
haven't they used these weapons against London?" 


"We don't know the full reasons why they haven't thrown kitchen sink at us 
here in London. Winston thinks that it's because they know we can retaliate. 
He calls it pre-emption." 

Menzies was trying hard to sound convincing but he knew he wasn't. No 
enemy had ever been deterred from using a weapon at their disposal least of 
all the Germans. They were masters at death, war and destruction. 

"I hope Winston's right!" 

Menzies continued. "Despite whatever megalomanic strategies go through 
the Hitler head or that of his cronies, Winston believes they still view 
themselves as Europeans and the last thing they would want to do is utterly 
destroy Europe." 

"They are doing a pretty good job destroying Europe using conventional 
weapons don't you think." Denniston contradicted Menzies opinion. 

"Just like after the last war, Europe will rebuild. But if they use chemical or 
biological weapons that might not happen. Look at what has happened to 
the battlefields from the Great War." Menzies had been there and 
experienced the first war himself. "Even today they remain wastelands." 

"But C, do you think the German cities we have destroyed from the air will 
remain ruins forever?" 


Menzies continued with his assessment. "No. Unlike the battle fields in 
France, the Germans will see their cities rebuilt." 

Denniston continued to probe. "At this late stage of the war, what do they 
have to gain then by attacking New York?" 

"Perhaps just pure Vengeance? An eye for an eye ... a tooth for a tooth." C 
hesitated "but in all honesty I think that Speer is bluffing." 

Denniston's was pragmatic. "Bluffing or not, the Americans are fearful the 
Germans might try something against New York." 

"Winston tells me that the US Navy is trying to establish a naval exclusion 
zone in their waters on the East Coast and have launched a naval Operation 
called Teardrop." 

"Well . . . whatever will assuage their fears. But tell me C in your measure 
what else might be going on then?" Denniston was not entirely persuaded 
and continued to probe C's thoughts. 

Menzies had met briefly with Churchill before placing calling Denniston. 
"Winston wonders if the Germans merely want us to move everything we've 
got up to the North Atlantic to protect New York." 

"Why would they want us to do that?" Denniston like to analyze what went 
on between Menzies and Churchill as much as he enjoyed analyzing the 
other intelligence that crossed his desk. 


"Winston thought it might have something to do with keeping our attention 
off the South Atlantic perhaps?" Menzies had been told by Churchill to 
suggest that possibility to Denniston. 

Denniston was attentive. "Argentina?" 

"Either that or something along that line. It might be the beginning of their 

"And the Wasserfalls in Bergen?" Denniston felt that somehow they were 
part of this equation. 

C was ready to play this spiel. "Maybe all four are going to Japan." 

But Denniston was uncertain.. "They why have they only disassembled one 
and not all four of them?" 

C wasn't really interested in the fine points, just the grand strategies. "Don't 
ask me - ask the Boffins." 

"That would mean Lindeman and the Rocket Committee. No thanks!" 
Denniston was wise to Cherwell and the Rocket Committee. 

"I hear you! Should we at least pass along a recommendation or two to 
Duncan Sandys and R.V. Jones?" 


"Let Winston do that. He is better at politics than you or I." 

"Besides that's not in my job description." Menzies had enough on his 

"C, let me read you a portion of a January 13 th message from Admiral Abe 
in Berlin to Tokyo: "There has been left behind here for an extremely long 
period of time important weapons and techniques (for example: radar, anti- 
tank guns and rockets) and essential personnel, all of which can be relied 
upon to make immediate contributions to the present day Greater East Asia 
war situation. Utmost effort were made transport them by submarine, 
but because of the successive losses of last year, very few arrived in Japan. 
Since then blueprints have been used, and equipment is being set up after 
various plans were sent in the form of small-scale photographs. In view of 
the need for the early return of the men who are essential to technical and 
cooperative operations, this plan is earnestly to be desired, but it does have 
some delicate aspects.'''' 

C waited a few seconds before responding. "Very telling Denniston. The 
Japanese sound desperate. Abe ... Abe ... didn't you show me a message 
from Admiral Abe last summer?" 

"Yes ... do you want me to read it to you again?" 

"Yes ... 


"Let me set down the telephone and I will find Abe's message for you ..." 
Denniston set down the receiver and quickly backtracked through the docket 
in front of him. 

When he found the message he picked up the receiver. "Here it is, dated 
July 24 th , 1944 the day after we sank I - 52: "The conviction is deepening 
that America is the principal enemy of Germany and Japan from the 
standpoint of being an arsenal for war materiel ...A heavy blow at this time 
inflicted on America from both the East and The West would shake her 
foundations ... I feel that before enemy air raids on the empire become 
intense, we must inflict a severe blow on America ..." 

"Denniston, I remembered Admiral Abe's July message because it sounds 
both severe and ominous than most of the other intelligence we have 
gathered on Japan-German technological exchange. And what about those 
chemical formulas they have been sending to Tokyo?" 

"Well C, what they send we read and what we read allows us to stay abreast 
of their chemical weapons development, especially with Schrader's work on 
organophosphate nerve agents." 

C paused for a moment then lowered his voice. "I don't know if you know, 
but the Soviets will be in Dyhernfurth by the end of the week, and the 
Germans will have to move their Dyhernfurth facility, ordnance and all 

Denniston let out a gasp. "I see. What are we going to do? " 


"Keep this under your hat Denny ... but Winston has authorized the fire 
bombing of the rail marshalling yards in Dresden to try to annihilate the 
Dyhernfurth shipment. The boffins have told him that to destroy the nerve 
gases require at least 700 C." 

"Why don't we just bomb the facility, before the shipment leaves 
Dyhernfurth? Isn't Dyhernfurth where they produce Zyclone B? " 

"I wish it were that simple. Dyhernfurth is out of the range of even our 
Mosquito bombers. We have sent Mossie reconnaissance planes over the 
facility. " 

"What about a bombing mission from England to Dyhernfurth and then 
south to airfields in Italy like the Ploesti raid?" 

"If we were talking about a few dozen or so B-25 very long range bombers 
that might work, but not Lancasters. They couldn't make that mission 
without 80% loss or greater. Even if they could they would have a much 
reduced bomb load. " 

Even to Denniston it was obvious. " It's just too far and I guess on their 
return they would have to fly high over the Alps without navigational aids, 
not to mention having to deal with the Luftwaffe and their Me-262's in 
Southern Germany." 


"Exactly, Dresden on the other hand is within the range of RAF Lancasters 

"Then why don't we just bomb the shipment in a conventional way? Why 

"If we don't destroy the nerve agents using high enough temperature, all we 
will end up doing is cracking open the shells and storage tanks. If the nerve 
gas is let loose it will kill hundreds of thousands of German women and 

"Why not just destroy the marshalling yards before the shipment arrives and 
trap the shipment." 

"Denny ... all that will do is delay the transfer or worst yet, the shipment 
will be scattered and hidden away. If it ends up at Hitler's Bavarian 
Redoubt then the war might drag on for months and months in Europe." 

"I guess if we don't destroy the shipment, the Germans may end up using the 
nerve gas against us on the battlefield, or against New York or even ship 
some of the nerve agent to Japan." 

"The Soviets have already informed us that some new weapons including 
chemical agents may have been used against them. At Yalta Churchill spoke 
with Stalin. Stalin want us to attack Dresden and destroy the nerve agents." 
Menzies was emphatic. 


Dennistin sighed into the telephone. "Damned if you do and damned if you 

"It appears that way, old chap." 
"God help us." Denniston was appalled. 

"Heaven has nothing to do with this! More like the hell and brimstone. 
Listen, what do I tell Winston about New York" 

"Just tell Winston . . . with the Dyhernfurth and Dresden business going on 
. . . with Operation Teardrop and all ... let the Americans do what they feel 
necessary to do. I would still place my money on the Argentine." 

"Anything else?" 

Denniston reached across his desk and placed a thick file before him. 
Opening the docket, "I have their most recent requests and their shipment 
lists. Pretty everything imaginable is on the list ... jets, rockets, radar, 
electronics. But they place special priority on bacteriological and chemical 
weapons and even several tonnes of uranium. They are about to start 
another run, but this time with a German U-boat, U-864 on the 5 ." 

"Whats your take on the mission of U-864?" Menzies needed to press for an 
assessment from Denniston. 


"The operational orders to U-864 were not sent by radio, but my general 
take is that this run will go to somewhere to the South Atlantic, but west not 
east. Not the Indian ocean mind you ... most likely Argentina. From 
intercepts from Station Point Grey we know that the Imperial Japanese 
Navy have two of their large 1-400 class submarines departing for a South 
Atlantic rendezvous. " 

"Refresh my memory. What so special with their 1-400 class submarines?" 
Menzies was not to up on naval questions. 

"They carry single engine aircraft with foldable wings. My best guess is the 
Japanese submarines will rendezvous with U-864 somewhere off the coast 
or Argentina. Or they might even meet up within Argentine territorial 
waters. The Argentines are not on side with us at the present time." 

"And what next in your measure?" Unbeknownst to Denniston, Menzies 
was recording their conversation on a wax record so as to catch and 
understand all of his nuances and for Churchill listen later that evening. 

"There are subtle indicators that the Japanese may try a concerted attack on 
both coasts using unconventional means, and that their attack may happen 
whether or not the Germans are still in the war." 

"New York?" 

"On the East coast, and maybe San Francisco or Los Angeles on the West 
Coast ..." 


"So in your measure the Speer's speech is not merely a ploy to focus our 
Anti-submarine warfare assets in the North Atlantic?" 

"Speer is too smart to be so obvious. He knows the war is lost to the 
Germans. Perhaps the people around Hitler are planning some form of 
vengeful deus ex machina." 

"So you are saying that Speer, may have caught wind of the Japanese plans 
and is trying to warning us? What these conspirators have planned is 
nothing short than criminal." 

"Exactly! He believes the war is over and if he knows what is transpiring, 
he is wise enough to understand that such an unconventional attack against 
New York would serve no useful political purpose as far as the Germans are 
concerned. He also clearly knows about Manhattan District." 

"In your measure then", Menzies needed a definitive statement, "an attack 
against New York after the Germans have surrendered with biological, 
chemical or radiological weapons that originated from wartime Germany 
would be construed by the Americans as a Crime Against Humanity." 

Denniston stayed silent for a moment and then spoke. "From what I know 
and from the decrypts I have in front of me, this is my assessment." 


Menzies had forged his consensus. "Agreed ... I will tell Winston we are 
keeping a very closer watch on the transhipment of men, plans and 
materials by U-boats from Bergen to the Japanese through Argentina." 

"It might not be for me to say," Denniston was still a naval Commander 
first and foremost, "... but I think Winston should send at least one of our 
air carrier groups South to the Falklands, and a flotilla of ASW ships." 

"Agreed. Anything else ..." 

"Well they know we have the Indian Ocean pretty well sorted out. If I were 
the Japanese I would send the ships southeast through the Pacific ..." 

"They haven't done this before." 

"That's exactly my point C. At this point in the war, they are desperate and 
the Japanese being who they are will side on subterfuge ... we should expect 
the unexpected." 

"What kind of a window are we talking about? When in your estimation 
would they try something?" 

"C I have stuck my head out already so much." 

"Well . . . stick it out some more." 


"If they go after San Francisco with an unconventional attack it will have to 
be something with a major psychological and political impact, otherwise 
why go after San Francisco at all." 

"Granted! Continue..." Menzies eyed the record. It had at most another 
two minutes of recording left. He better hurry Denniston along. 

"The only thing of any consequence planned for San Francisco in the 
foreseeable future is the founding conference of the United Nations. I think 
there was something about this in the Times a few days back." 

"When is that scheduled? I don't have much time to read the Times." 

"You better confirm this with Winston, but I think the founding conference 
of the United Nations begins that last week of April." 

"Germany won't be defeated by then." Menzies knew this for certain. 

"The writer of the Times article said that there is a very good chance 
Germany will have surrendered by the time the Conference is concluded and 
the Charter of the United Nations is signed. They are expecting fifty nations 
to sign onto the United Nations." 

"Then that will mean Japan against the rest of the world. One against fifty." 
"Sort of a repeat of Japan attitude towards the League of Nations." 


"I am concerned C. If we don't get the U-864 in transit we will need to go 
after the Japanese I-class submarines. If they don't go the Indian Ocean 
route then to get from the Pacific to Argentina they have to go around Cape 

"What about another tact?" 
"What do you have in mind?" 

"What about something diplomatic through your Swedish friend?" Menzies 
noticed that only a few seconds was left to the wax record.. 

"Ask Winston ... its worth a try." 

"Fine. Let me brief Winston and then I will get back to you." The record 
reached the edge and Menzies lifted the head and flicked the recorder off. 

"Yes do that. I will be here until midnight at least. I have received a new 
batch of Oshima, Kojima and Abe decrypts which I need to read and 
evaluate. ..It looks like Oshima plans to stay in Berlin until the very end but 
Abe is planning to go North to Sweden." 

"Stay on top of things ..." 

Almost at the same instant, the two men set down their phones leaving their 
conversation hanging until the next time they would speak. 


At Menzies end of the telephone line, C carefully lifted the wax recording 
off the machine and placed it into a dust jacket and then placed it carefully 
face up on his desk. Then he got up and lifted the wax recording into a 
hardened dispatch box. 

He flicked a switch and asked his secretary to get his dispatch courier and 
before he even had a chance to let the switch seat itself the door opened and 
one of his two Mi-6 bodyguards entered his office. 

"10 Downing . . . immediate." The courier gathered the dispatch box and left 
closing the door softly behind him. Menzies got up and began to pace his 
office with trepidation. 

At Denniston end of the line, he had almost felt the need to tell C to get 
more agents on the ground in Argentina, but he knew that C knew his 
business and would resent the intrusion. So he left it at that. 

Denniston started to carefully read the messages that Vice Admiral Katsu 
Abe in Berlin, senior Imperial Japanese Navy officer in Wartime Europe, 
had sent to Tokyo about the upcoming departure of a German U-boats to 
Japan, the U-864, scheduled to leave Bergen on February 5 . 

Crated aboard U-864 were 65 tonnes of Mercury, several jet engines, 
drawing and parts for a Me-262, rocket engines, drawing and parts for a Me- 
163, as well as drawing and a completely disassembled Wasserfall rocket. 


As he read the latest Abe intercepts, Commander Denniston knew that the 
Royal Navy had set a trap for U-864. H.M.S. Venturer was lurking along 
the projected track that U-864 was to take upon its departure from 
Norwegian waters. 

Further south off the coast of Portugal Lisbon prowled H.M.S. Seraph. 
Seraph knew the region well, having deposited a body with forged planted 
documents off the Spanish coast in 1943 for Denniston' s friend Operation 

Both of His Majesty's Submarines Venturer and Seraph had one and only 
one task - sink the U-864. 

Denniston also knew of the next transhipment from Bergen to Japan. It was 
mentioned in one of Admiral Abe's messages from berlin to Tokyo -U-234. 
The U-234 was slated to leave sometime in early April. 

He also had the U-234 's shipment's list in from of him. There were the 
usual shipment of jets, rockets, electronics and the like and another shipment 
of Uranium. But there was something on the list he had not seen or heard 
of before. It was a liquid called Trilon-83 . . . 

Denniston picked up his telephone. When a voice came on the telephone he 
asked "R. V. . . . bring me everything you have on something called Trilon- 


Chapter 23 - The End of Dresden 

The Tiger tanks were outnumbered, not out gunned. With three or four 
Soviet T-34's assigned to each Tiger it was a matter of coordinated 
manoeuvre . . . move and fire, move and fire . . . like ants on a bigger and 
heavily armoured beetle . . . until the monster was out flanked. 

You might lose two of the four T-34's, but there were many more where 
they came from. In fact, by January 1945 there was a never ending flood. 
Then it was simply a matter of a round into the machinery space up the 
vulnerable rear and the Tiger was no more. 

It was inevitable an inexorable passage of time before the Tigers, the pride 
of the German Panzer army, were mere hulks of burning diesel and 
exploding ammunition. The crews that did not make it out of the wreck 
were roasted like over cooked turkeys. 

Like everything built by the Germans, the Tiger tanks were too large and too 
sophisticated for a rude and crude battlefront like southern Silesia, especially 
such a defensive battlefront, where smallness and nimbleness mattered. 

For the resources needed to make one Tiger, the Russians could make three 
T-34's, so they did not mind losing a few. It was a fair trade also 
considering the Soviets outnumber the Germans on the Eastern front by a 
good half a million men. Engineering was engineering, and production was 
production. This important aspect of the war on the Eastern Front was 


decided months before in the planning offices of German industry. Besides 
there were simply too few Tigers to be everywhere at once and they needed 
to be everywhere. There was no conventional weapon that could stem the 
Soviet flood. 

The Red Army were just a few days march east of Dyhernfurth, when the 
order was issued from Berlin to evacuate the I.G. Farben facility and to ship 
the entire inventory of nerve agents and related ordnance from southern 
Silesia to central Germany. 

Otto Ambros, director of Anorgana Gmbf knew that the evacuation order 
was inevitable and he had gotten his managers to outline in great detail the 
inventory of army shells and Luftwaffe aerial bombs. He had even donned 
the grey protective gear, complete with rebreather and bug-eyed goggles and 
was given a walking tour of the works. 

Before this inspection Ambros had only seen pictures, or the production 
drawings, technical reports and monthly reports. He had never before set 
foot in the production facility. 

Despite the harshness of his view of things, Otto was not prepared for what 
he saw and experienced. Ambros felt out of place with his protective gear 
amongst the unprotected prisoners from the two concentration camps in the 
region, who worked in the extreme cold and hardship in the Trilon-83 
production facility without a mask, or even gloves and in some cases even 
without proper boots. 


The men from camp I did the hard menial labour of moving around the 
empty shells and drums of precursor chemical and the women from Camp II 
did the actual filling of the shells and there sealing. 

The filling routine was simple. The empty shell was cleaned by hand by 
girls no more than twelve or thirteen whose hands were small enough to fit 
inside the top of the 155 mm shell. The shells would start at one end of a 
long table and be rolled on edge from one stage to the next in the procedure. 

The young girls did not wear gloves and so their hands were scarred by the 
sharp edges of the metal and red with inflammation from the cleaning 
solution. Ambros stood looking over the shoulder of one of the girls and 
watched her work on a shell, then he followed the shell down the production 

At the first stage, the inside of the shell was washed clean of oil using a 
surfactant and rinsed. The girls who did this were the youngest and perhaps 
the luckiest of the bunch for the water was warm and the surfactant not 

At the second stage was a perchlorate wash, and rinse with distilled water 
and then a final hydrogen peroxide rinse. Then it was blown dry using jets 
of pressurized air. 

At the end of the table the shell was pushed up on it side and inspected then 
lifted to the filling station by a pair of athletic young women who lifted the 
shell using a grasping fixture shaped like an oversized nutcracker. 


At the next station the inside of the shell was sprayed with chlorobenzene 
and the thread at the head brushed and then primed with a sealant before it 
was sent into the filling station. The two lifters stood by to move the shell as 
the thread was primed them carried the prepared shell to the bunker. 

At the bunker the shell was passed through a series of small rotating doors 
into the next chamber, a large narrow, rectangular concrete bunker with a 
door at one end and a shipping door and platform at the other. 

Through the top of the concrete bunker leading straight up to the roof above 
was a series of large steel ducts the width of the hips of the girls carrying the 

Ambros did not need to enter the bunker to inspect the next stage for along 
the wall of the concrete bunker were a series of viewing ports that allowed 
an outside a limited look into the room. The ghoulish nature of the next step 
struck even Otto Ambros as morbidly Kafkaesque. 

The prisoners within the chamber, mostly women in their twenties, filled the 
shells without any protective gear and if any died in a shift due to a leak of 
nerve gas they were carted off to the autopsy table then to the crematorium 
and replaced with new fodder. 

Surprisingly there were few casualties merely because in their twisted 
Germanic efficiency the production directors at Anorgana Gmbf did not 
want their production line to be stopped for any reason, and so they had 


decided to use woman who played the piano and who had excellent manual 
dexterity. They also treated these women well given the appalling 
conditions the other prisoners were in. They worked two hours on and one 
hour off for sixteen hours total each day and had a full six hours of sleep ! 

In their Faustian bargain with life, the women were even exceeding the 
planned production quota and so the girls on the feeding lines were given a 
break each few hours. Even Germanic efficiency could not overcome the 
bottlenecks of passing the shells into the chamber through the heavy and 
awkward rotating doors. 

At the end of the chamber Ambros watched as a pallet of shells exited the 
filling chamber and was washed down and dried by a final group of 

As he walked away from the building he thought the whole thing could have 
been a pot factory for all one knew, were it not for the Kafkaesque nature of 
the end product and the use of and mistreatment of the prisoners. 

For Ambros, it had struck him as telling that most of the fatalities amongst 
the prisoners working at Dyhernfurth came from the Camp I prisoners. The 
German Army had learned a great deal about the handling and movement of 
the shells from the Camp I prisoners. 

Those Dyhernfurth prisoners that died of extreme cold or mistreatment 
ended up in the crematorium, and those that died because of the lethality of 


the nerve agents, ended their days first cut up in a post-mortem and then in 
the crematorium. 

Even as Ambros walked through the facility he did not see living people but 
dead ones. No matter how hard they had worked or how many shells or 
bombs they had filled, they would not last the week. Except for the few 
prisoners who would load and unload the boxcars, the rest would be done 
away with, probably with the very agents they were handling. That meant 
2,200 men, women and children. 

The order was issued on 6th February, 1945 under the signature of the SS 
High Command in Berlin and passed along through the Regional Army 
commander Generalmajor Max Sachsenheimer: "The Soviets were not to 
capture any of the nerve agents, equipment or technical documentation at 
I.G. Farben, Dyhernfurth. You are also ordered to destroy the two 
concentration camps, Dyhernfurth I and Dyhernfurth II as well as all who 
may have worked on Griin-3 who might be captured by the Soviets. 

Ambros could not contemplate being responsible for the deaths of so many 

On the 8 he issued his own instructions as an I.G. Farben director. He 
classified the prisoners as "vital to the German war effort given their 
expertise in the handling and production of organophosphate fertilizers" and 
ordered the Camp inmates moved by rails westward to work in the I.G. 
Farben facilities in southern Germany. 


His orders were the inmates were to be shipped westwards once the shells 
and bombs were safely on their way. 

The shipment of the ordnance was issued to Generalmajor Sachsenheimer's 
command. The General had quite a task ahead to move 12,500 tons of nerve 
agents that were either in storage tanks or already made into shells and aerial 

He was ordered to ship both variants of Trilon-83, Variant B first, and then 
in a separate second shipment the Variant A. 

The High Command had done their near term tactical assessment, as well as 
their far term strategic one, and realized that with the Ardenne's offensive 
stalled and with the unrelenting Soviets making headway in the East, the 
German Army needed to prepare for the final Battle for Berlin, code named 
Operation Gotterdamerung. 

The High Command also had the Bavarian Redoubt and figured with a fight 
in the mountains and valleys of Bavaria their war could last well into 1946, 
in time for the new Wunderaffen - the jets, rockets, nerve gases and atomic 
bombs - that were all ready being deployed. 

Someone in Berlin had done their homework. For cold conditions Variant 
B, a 80:20 mix of Tabun and chlorobenzene, would dispersed more easily 
and could be stored longer. It was to be shipped to Berlin. 


Variant A's was their second choice, a 95:5 mix of Trilon-83 and 
chlorobenzene. Variant - A deteriorated much too fast even in storage. It 
also reacted with the iron in the shells. Besides, in cold conditions Variant A 
flowed like honey, which would not help the Germans much should they use 
these shells and aerial bombs in cold winter conditions. Variant - A went to 
Bavaria. Berlin felt the Bavarians deserved the second best. 

The orders to Generalmajor Sachsenheimer regarding the shipments of the 
Trilon-83 ordnance were that they were to begin no later than February 12 th 
and the entire shipment was to be sent by rail through Dresden with 48 

They only had a window of 48 hours before massive reinforcements would 
be travelling by rail from SS General Karl Wolffs North Italian command 
through Dresden to help reinforce and stabilize the German Army's southern 
front in Silesia. 

Key to the movement of men and materials from North Italy to Silesia was a 
48 window of train traffic through Dresden, February 14 and 15 . The 
German High Command had advanced warning to expect the Soviets to 
begin their push across the Oder River in force on or about the 15 th of 

With the failure of their Ardennes stratagem, the German High Command 
had decided to remove the last of the troops from Northern Italy northwards 
into Austria. They would then blow up all the rail lines and tunnels going 


north from Italy and use the Alps as a natural line of defence the same way 
they had used the mountains of Italy to slow the allied advance. 

As the Dyhernfurth evacuation began the promised rail cars were few and 
slow to arrive. In fact, they were sent only about half of what they needed 
and so the Variant- B shells were loaded first, two to a wooden case, eight 
cases to a stack, six stacks to a row, fourteen rows in each car. The cases 
had a skull and cross bones painted on them. 

Each railcar could hold 1,344 shells and took about an hour to load. They 
had 120,000 Variant- B shells to move, which meant Ambros needed at least 
90 railcars just for the this first allotment. It took the better part of two days 
continual loading, working a 24 hour clock, before the first allotment was 
ready to be moved. 

All through the work, the Army soldiers were on edge and stood well back 
across the track from the workers. Only the Generalmajor himself had the 
courage to walk near or on the platform. Occasionally he even climbed up 
onto the roof of the station to survey the far bank of the Oder through his 

On the first day only one case was dropped, but that was because the nails 
did not hold and luckily the whole thing fell onto soft earth. The prisoners 
were too tired and insensitive from their work to care. And to them it didn't 
really matter. They knew about the shells. If the box had fallen on concrete 
and the shell had split open it would have killed most of the workers in a 10 
metre radius, or more. But they were beyond caring. 


The train to Dresden left one hour and twenty minutes late, at but the first 
allotment was on its way. As the first allotment left on its westward journey 
to Dresden, a second train arrived at the station from Dresden with rolling 
stock full of tanks, armoured personnel carriers and weary but well-armed 

The foreman ordered a break while the troop train was unloaded. The much 
welcome break for the prisoners lasted well into the early hours of the 

At around two in the morning the troop train was finally free and loading of 
the second allotment began. 

About ten hours into the loading of the second allotment, Otto Ambros 
happened upon Generalmajor Sachsenheimer and asked what he thought 
about the 120,000 shells that they had shipped yesterday. 

Otto was surprised to hear that 120,000 shells was not a great deal to the 
Generalmajor. "At three rounds per gun per minute, and with typically 200 
guns in a frontal action," the Generalmajor explained, "the entire allotment 
could be used up in a little over 3 hours." 

"With a conventional shell you could kill or incapacitate maybe one or two 
soldiers." Ambros pointed at a case. "With one or two of these, you could 
kill or incapacitate 50 people with just one shell." 


The Generalmajor went silent, turned his back to Ambros and lifted his 
binoculars to look out across the Oder River for a moment. Then he turned 
back to face Ambros. "Why are we moving them? Why aren't we using 
them on the Soviets?" 

"We have orders to move them that's why." 

The Generalmajor pointed east across the Oder River. "There are six Red 
Army divisions just across the Oder. That's 70,000 men. Are you telling 
me that with 1 % of the shells we have loaded today I could completely 
decimate six divisions?" 

"Yes ... in theory." Ambros felt pleased with his handy work. 

The Generalmajor offered Ambros a cigarette and lit it with his lighter. 
"Will you leave me some shells then, Herr Director?" 

"Technically I have been ordered to move every last one of them but ... we 
haven't been given enough railcars to ship all of the second allotment, the 
Variant - A shells." 

Ambros took a long pull from his cigarette. "If we can't ship all the 
Variant-A shells then I guess it is your business how to dispose of what we 
cannot move. You will have to destroy the aerial bombs using explosives." 

"I have looked at what's remaining and I don't see how you will be able to 
move the large storage tanks." Sachsenheimer was being very cynical. 


"We can't hope to move them. You will have to dispose of the chemicals 

"And how will I do that Herr director? I can fire the shells, and I can blow 
up the aerial bombs, but what am I do to with the storage tanks full of the 

"If you can set them ablaze and if they can get hotter than 700 Celsius then 
the Trilon-83 will decompose." 

"I don't have enough explosives to do that." A Lieutenant approached the 
Generalmajor and saluted. "Yes ..." 

The Lieutenant handed the Generalmajor a message. "Generalmajor ... the 
allies are bombing Dresden." 

The Generalmajor read the message and then looked at his watch. The first 
train had left Dyhernfurth eighteen hours before. He turned to Ambros. 
"You can stop the loading of the second allotment for the time being." 

"Why is that?" Otto was taken aback by the directive. 

"The bombers caught the first shipment as it passed through the station in 
Dresden." Otto was taken aback by the biting tone of the Generalmajor's 
words. "The whole centre of Dresden is a firestorm." 


Ambros felt his throat in his chest. "It is likely the first shipment will 
survive the bombing is it." Sachsenheimer shook his head. 

From across the river a Soviet artillery shell exploded a few kilometres 
distant. "Well Director ... the whole matter of what to do with what's left 
behind is no longer academic is it Herr director." 

Ambros stayed silent. The Generalmajor turned to the Lieutenant. "Have 
my regiment commanders gather in the stationhouse in twenty minutes. The 
Lieutenant marched off. 

"Listen Herr director. If I can't dispose of the shells, the aerial bombs, and 
the storage tanks what am I to do then?" 

Ambros looked anxiously across the Oder "When we did our fields tests we 
found out that Trilon-83 reacts violently with water:" Otto swept his hand 
across in front of him. "If push comes to shove we can always dump the 
whole lot into the Oder." 

Generalmajor Sachsenheimer threw down his cigarette and stamped it out 
with his boot. "Frankly Herr director I would rather we use the whole lot on 
the Soviets, but I don't have orders." He looked up at Otto. " I might just do 
that. The last thing I would want is the Soviets to turn around and use 
Trilon-83 against us." 


Ambros stared in stunned disbelief as Sachsenheimer marched off to his 
meeting in the stationhouse. He hadn't thought about the Soviets capturing 
the lot and using it against the German Army. 

In some twisted way, the allied bombing of Dresden and the destruction of 
the shipment was a humane inhumanity. The heat of the fire will have spelt 
the end of all of what they had tried to ship. That would just leave what was 
still here at Dyhernfurth. 

Otto cringed suddenly and ducked for cover as large Soviet shell landed in 
the river. The Soviet artillerymen were finding their range. 

Ambros began to make his way across the railway tracks to the other side. 
The next shell landed in the river but this time closer to him, much closer. 

Then from behind him came a large explosion. Then another even bigger 
one. Ambros reached for his cigarette case. His hand shook. He looked at 
his hand and wondered how much of the shaking was from fear and how 
much from cold. He lifted a cigarette to his lips and lit it. The cigarette 
tasted different for some reason. Then he realized what he was tasting was 
his own fear. He took another pull from his cigarette. The taste was still 

As he watched a pillar of white puffy smoke rise from a few hundred metres 
to the West he though ... it has begun. 


Chapter 24 - A Quick and Painful Death 

The cat had set the trap and the unsuspecting mouse staggered right into it. 
The Norwegian sea is large and boundless but the mouser knew where to 
find its mark. 

From a depth of eight fathoms, the Royal Navy submarine HMS Venturer 
had quietly and carefully stalked its submerged prey for two days. Each six 
hours they neared the surface to receive a radio update from an underground 
station near Bergen. Just two letters Sierra Bravo - stand bye. Somewhere 
in the hills overlooking the U-boat pen in Bergen a brave Norwegian 
underground agent was keeping watch out for the departure of their prey. 

After fifty-four hours on station came the awaited message - Echo Romeo - 
en- route. At this point on their mission they had been submerged for all but 
seven hours of the last two days and the Captain of Venturer had positioned 
his submarine an eight hour submerged distance from the mouth of the 
channel out from Bergen. 

The Captain of H.M.S. Venturer was going to leave nothing to chance. He 
also placed his submarine towards the coastal side of the anticipated track to 
mask the noise of his submarine amongst the surf crashing onto the 
Norwegian coastline. 

To help the cat along the mouse was making noise. Then they heard the 
submarine approach on its predicted track and pursued it for nearly three 


hours undetected and had positioned itself in the landwards side of the 
baffles of U-864. Their prey was at the surface snorkeling when first 
detected, and one of their twin diesels was making quite a racket. It was like 
the games they had played with Seraph, but easier. 

Then suddenly the Venturer let loose with a spread of four torpedoes. The 
slow 22 knot torpedoes ran for thirty seconds before their approach was 
detected by the soundman on the German submarine. 

At almost the last second before impact the soundman of the German U-boat 
heard the approach of the torpedoes and the captain tried to turn away. It 
was bad enough they were caught unawares, but turning away, that was their 
big mistake. It was the fourth torpedo that caught the U-864 amidships 
breaking the submarine cleanly into two equal halves. The men aboard the 
German sub did not know what hit them and didn't stand a chance. 

For the passenger and crew of the German submarine, it was a quick and 
painful death. For the crew of the British submarine, it earned them a place 
in naval history, for never before had one submarine sunk another submarine 
when both predator and prey were submerged. 

On the calm surface of the Norwegian sea, all that marked the demise of U- 
864 was an oil slick that slowly rose to the surface, then dissipated in the 
cold Norwegian breeze. 


Chapter 25 - Argentina Must Wait 

The look-out had stood watch with his binoculars on a hill overlooking 
Puerto Lobos and the Golfo san Matias for several days straight without any 
sighting of U-864. 

The German submarine was to have sailed in first after dark on the 20 and 
immediately afterwards a waiting Japanese submarine was to make the dash 
to the same pier and tie itself outboard so that a minimum of effort would be 
needed to transfer the men, crates and documents from one submarine to the 
other. The whole transfer was to take at most four hours. 

But the evening of the 20 th came and went, then the evening of the 21 st , and 
the next evening and the next and the German submarine did not show, and 
on the fifth night the Japanese submarine sent a small boat ashore with two 
Germans returning from Japan and a message for them to bring with them to 
the German Embassy in Buenos Aires for forwarding to the Admiral Abe in 
Berlin - the message was simply "Argentina must wait". 

On the morning of March 26 th , the Japanese submarine had no choice but to 
set sail eastward empty handed towards the Cape of Good Hope, the Indian 
Ocean and home waters. But she would never make it home. Some 22 
days later she would be sunk off the coast of Madagascar by a Royal Navy 
destroyer who happened upon her in the middle of the night while she was 
on the surface charging her batteries. 


Chapter 26 - Stockholm in the Spring 

The old doctor and his young and very beautiful new assistant had arrived a 
week into March having received a formal invitation from the Swedish 
Academy of Science to attend a medical conference at the University. The 
invitation had been arranged by his former student who was now a Dean at 
the University. 

When the old doctor arrived by Swedish ferry he could hardly believe his 
eyes. Unlike Copenhagen which was dark and drab, Stockholm was lit up 
and untouched by war. Everyone was smiling and nowhere were to be seen 
the ugly red white and black Nazis banners. 

The stunningly beautiful woman standing next to the old doctor got all the 
attention, which was fine by him for in his coat pocket was the precious vial 
of blood concealed away within a drab old non-descript grey fountain pen. 
The old pen was well used and perfect for the role. Long ago, it had been a 
gift from his wife and for reasons of nostalgia he just could not part with it. 

The fountain pen didn't work. Its bladder was empty and needed to be 
filled. Why ... if any one asked did he carry an empty pen? Because the 
damned thing leaked to begin with! If he carried it filled the wretched old 
pen, it dribbled into the pocket and stained his nice white shirt ... He carried 
a small jar of ink which he could use to fill the bladder if need be. That was 
the joy of his concealment. 


Their ferry had arrived late, having been careful in their transit across the 
straits from Denmark and into Swedish Territorial waters. They had to sail 
in day light and near the Swedish coast. An hour out they had nearly ran 
over a naval mine that was adrift off its chain anchor. In a moment of 
drama, one of the deck officers took aim at the mine with a machine pistol 
and let off a few rounds until the mine sank. 

For the rest of their two day journey north by north east up the Baltic they 
sailed in company with a Swedish naval ship that had joined up with them 
just off their first port of call at Kristianstad. There would be one other stop 
on their journey up the Swedish coast before they arrived at their port of 

When the ferry from Copenhagen arrived in the inner harbour in Stockholm 
early on Friday morning, the pier was lined with people anxiously awaiting 
the ship's arrival. As they disembarked and walked into the customs office, 
the room was already packed with people. 

The sounds and smells of tired and apprehensive people was in the air. 
Several young men, obviously German deserters, had already been detained. 

The doctor and his pretty travelling companion had debarked later than most 
of the other passengers and so they had to wait in line as their luggage was 
opened, inspected and cleared. The officials were stern and suspicious, but 
by disembarking later he knew the customs officers would be tired and more 
anxious to finish their work for the day. Besides they both looked rather 


As their passports were returned to them the passport officer politely wished 
them well "Tack sa mycket." The old doctor nodded. "God dag." T 

he custom officer tipped his hat and smiled and broke into perfect German. 
"Have a good conference Herr professor." There was an edge of cynicism in 
his remark. Their visas said that were just to visit for a few weeks until he 
conference was over, but the custom official suspected that in fact they had 
no intention to return at all to Berlin and to the dreadful war. 

They passed through the rest of the custom inspection without problem and 
at the exit they walked into the welcoming arms of his old student. The 
Swedish doctor who greeted them had grey hair, grey eyes and gold rimmed 
glasses and a big inviting Swedish smile. 

"Well professor ... it is nice to see you again after so many years." The old 
man nodded. "It is nice to see you as well. Thank you for inviting us to 
Stockholm for Christmas." 

The old doctor introduced his companion and the Swedish doctor took her 
hand. As he gripped her hand he turned to the old doctor . . ."charming." 

She cautiously pulled her hand away from his and put it back into her fur 
muff that kept her hands warm. Here outside the custom house it was just 
below zero and snowing small snowflakes. There was perhaps eight 
centimetres of fresh snow on the sidewalk. 


They were ushered into a big beige Mercedes sedan. She gathered her dress 
and long coat around her and got into the back seat first, then the old 
professor and then the Swede. The three sat side by side in the back seat. 

Their as their meager luggage was placed into the trunk the driver got in and 
started the car. The trunk was slammed shut and the driver put the car and 
gear and started to pull away from the curve. 

As the car started to move he was looking past the old man at the young 
woman sitting next to him in the car. She smiled back then turned away to 
look at the boulevard and the passing people and building. Without looking 
she reached over and took the old professor's hand and gave it a squeeze. 
Than you, I could get lost in this city, she thought. 

"You haven't changed at all in fifteen years." 

The old man smiled first at her than at the Swedish doctor. "Has it been that 

"Yes professor. Perhaps even longer. Did we not talk at the Berlin 
conference of 1930?" 

"Yes ... the 1930 conference. I think you gave a talk about the human 
nervous system." 

"You have a good memory professor." 


"I wish I did. In fact I looked in up in my journal from 1930." 

"Oh yes, I remember you kept notes on everything then." 

"I still do." The old doctor cut to the chase. "Do you still do research in the 
nervous system?" The Swede nodded in acknowledgement. His old 
professor was happy to hear of this. "Listen, once we are settled in at the 
hotel, I need to confer with to you about the nervous system." 

"We can talk over dinner." 

"Yes ... let us." The doctor took out a notebook from his pocket and a 
pencil and wrote a few words on a piece of paper. Then he took the special 
fountain pen out of his pocket. 

"I want you to have this." He handed the paper and the pen to his friend. 
The Swede took the pen and the paper. He read the paper without saying a 
thing. "Keep this our secret. There is a chemical in the blood that is toxic. 
Analyze it and then pass it along to your military officials. Its some sort of 
weapon. They will know what to do." 

The Swede cautiously put the fountain pen and paper into his pocket. "You 
are very thoughtful professor as always. Thank you for this kind gift." 

"You are welcome. Yes let us talk about old times over dinner." 


Chapter 27 - Our Worst Fears! 

This time it was Menzies who invited the Commander to his corner of the 
world. The forecast was rather grim. M's MI-6 agents in Argentina 
belatedly tracked down the peripheries but not the central elements of their 
worst fears. 

At the last days of the war, the Germans not only had a speciality technology 
courier running the route between Lisbon and Buenos Aires carrying 
microfilm of their most advanced technologies to the Japanese, but two of 
their U-boats had surfaced off the coast in La Plata and it was two days 
before they surrendered. 

One of the German submarines was the U-530, the same submarine that had 
rendezvoused with the 1-52 just hours before the Japanese submarine was 
sunk. There were rumours the submarines carried special cargo. They had 
tracked the U-530 across the Atlantic to her final patrol area off New York 

It was Denniston who had informed Menzies that the USN Admiral in 
command of Operation Teardrop allocated an entire air carrier ASW group 
just to go after her. The nearest to the measure of things was an assessment 
that the U-530 had escaped detection by sitting for several days on the 
bottom in the approaches to New York harbour beside a wreck and managed 
to escape the aircraft carrier and five destroyers. When Germany 


surrendered the captain and crew disregarded his orders from Admiral 
Donitz to surrender and set sail, instead, for Argentina. 

There was also the reports of giant German planes that had left Germany to 
Portugal and had somehow flown across the Atlantic from onto an airfield 
near Natal in Brazil and then onto Rio Negro province in Argentina. The 
planes were full of speciality cargo which has not gone to ground and the 
planes themselves are nowhere to be found. 

There were concurrent sightings of unfamiliar planes landing near the Gulf 
of San Matias. A week after the sightings the Royal Navy sent a cruiser and 
two destroyers north from the Falklands Islands to investigate but found 
nothing when they arrived. A RN search party was sent ashore but were set 
back to sea when the Argentine army arrived en masse and ordered "los 
pirates" back onto their ships. 

"There we are again ... Golfo San Matias!" Denniston now definitely knew 
they were on to something. 

Menzies read to Denniston a message sent from Buenos Aires to the Foreign 
Office in London, complaining of "the unacceptable intrusion into Argentine 
territorial waters and a landing on Argentine soil by combatants during 

"What did Churchill say to this?" Denniston knew that Winston was at his 
best when provoked. 


Menzies extracted a single pink message sheet and read its content. "The 
Royal Navy is in search of brigands and pirates in the South Atlantic. We 
understand that several German U-boats have sought refuge amongst the one 
million German expatriates in Argentine. Now that our war with Germany 
is over, any assistance that Buenos Aires can provide the United Nations and 
the UK would be to both countries mutual advantage." 

"Pretty bland ..." Denniston was disappointed. "I guess Winston tired." 

Menzies agreed. "The war has drawn the best out of him and there is not 
much remaining. Not sure what will happen with Winston and the cabinet. 
They are quit divided. There is now quite a gulf between Winston and Atlee 
and his gang." 

"Let us not go there shall we." Denniston drew them back onto topic. "How 
then should we approach the Japanese thing now that Germany is defeated?" 

M answered him in a measured way. "Our assessment is that officially the 
Germans are no longer helping their Japanese allies. . ." 

Denniston knew that his friend wanted him to ask. "... but unofficially." 

M smiled "unofficially ... the Nazis diehards are still hard at it." 

"Damn . . . can't these bastards let things be? What do you think they may 
have sent over?" Having kept a keen eye out, Denniston had his suspicions. 


"My people were able to survey the landing fields near Natal." M reached 
into the docket in front of him on his large desk and produced some pictures. 

Without waiting the Commander asked for M's assessment. "And what did 
they find?" 

Menzie gave the Commander a sheath of pictures. "It appears the aircraft 
were heavily laden!" 

Denniston took the pictures and studied them in a cursory sort of way. They 
were pictures of grooves left in a field, and rather uninteresting. He wasn't 
an expert of soils and grooves and so he quickly handed them back. 

"My people talked with two local farmers who heard the planes arrive and 
then leave again about four hours later. They said that some trucks arrived 
an hour after the first plane landed. Then the second plane landed. Then 
about an hour later some but not all of the trucks left." 

"It sounds like there was some preparation involved and an elaborate plan at 
work. Any idea how many trucks?" 

"Between eight and ten trucks. At least five of them were transporting 
aviation fuel." 

"How can you be so certain?" 


"We tracked down one of the drivers of the trucks. He works for a Brazilian 
petroleum company. The fuel was ordered by an expatriate German 
businessman in Buenos Aires." 

"And how do you know this?" 

"The businessman was known to us. We followed him as he drove the 
whole distance from Buenos Aires to Natal the two days prior to the 

The change of tense caught the commander's attention. "And . . .?" 
"Can't tell you more?" M clammed up. 
"Why not ..." 

"Its operational ... I have to protect my people . . . you do not have a need to 

Denniston was not dissuaded and pressed on. "Is this the same fellow that 
died in a car accident outside of Recife on the 26 th ?" 

Denniston had a wry smile on his face. Menzies went silent. "I take it 
silence is all I will get from you." 

M asked "Queen's gambit ... how do you know about the accident at 


Denniston pulled an intercept out of his satchel. "I have had my people keep 
a special eye out for anything unusual from the South American files. This 
was intercepted on the last day of February. At the time it seemed rather un 
important until we realized the man had hosted the Ambros visit, when he 
was on his way back from Japan." 

M read the intercept. "Director of I.G. Farben Argentina killed in traffic 
accident outside of Recife Brazil on 26 th last /STOP/ Reason for trip and 
destination unknown /STOP/ Will advise if and when more information 

Denniston just watched his friend read and digest the message. It was a 
moment before M spoke. "This confirms it then?" 

Denniston was emphatic and certain. "Our worst fears?" 

"Winston agrees. The Royal Navy intelligence people tell him that the two 
1-400 submarines have gone silent and disappeared off their plots. Before 
they did, both were assigned aircraft and Kaiten." 

"Kaiten?" Denniston was a European expert not a Japanese one. 

"My Far east experts tell me they are manned kamikaze torpedoes. They 
used some against the US Navy with effect at their anchorage at Ulithi in the 
South Pacific. They sank a ship or two." 


"Fitting these pieces together, what do you think they are up to?" 

Menzies continued. "My people tell me that two of their giant I - 400 
submarines together with their four planes and perhaps six Kaiten could 
wreck havoc on a harbour. Or maybe they planned to use the Was serf all the 
Germans have provided them. They could carry a dozen of them across the 
Pacific in the large hangars on these subs." 

"So it appears that the Germans have tried to send them everything in the 
way of technology either as drawings or the real thing." Denniston had a 
frown on his face. 

"That's the half of it. The Japanese have their own indigenously developed 
biological and chemical warfare research well along at Harbin. They call it 
Unit 731. We have a pipeline into the place through Harbin." 

"Didn't the yanks send us something along those lines?" Denniston leaned 
back in his chair and stroked his hair. 

"Yes. My technical experts tell me that the Americans and the Canadians 
are worried that the biological stuff developed at Unit 731 and already used 
by the Japanese against the Chinese might end up falling from the sky either 
dropped by sub launched aircraft or from the Japanese rice paper balloons 
that are arriving off their west coast. Then there is the chemical stuff." 

Denniston leaned forward on his chair and pulled a small piece of pink paper 
from his satchel and handed it to M. 


"Here's perhaps another piece of the puzzle." Menzies read it carefully then 
returned it to the Commander. 

"Yes . . . our man in Buenos Aires tells us that the Japanese have an in with 
one of the Argentine delegates. He has an appetite for pretty ladies and is 
being blackmailed by the wife of the Japanese naval attache in Argentina. 
She has set for him a honey trap." 

"We have another intercept from the Japanese Embassy in Buenos Aires 
that tell us the Japanese have been given a copy of the entire itinerary for the 
founding meeting of the United Nations in San Francisco." 

"Damnation ..." In a flash, Menzies reached across his desk and lifted the 
telephone "Number 10 please." 

M waited a split second for the connection to be made. "I need to brief the 
PM." Putting his hand over the mouthpiece of the telephone M whispered to 
the Commander. 

"Denniston ... I think you better come with me. I think they plan to go after 
the Sann Francisco Conference ..." 


Chapter 28 - The Best Kept Secret of the European War 

The message from Ambassador Oshima in Berlin to the Foreign Ministry in 
Tokyo dated March 30 was unlike most of his previous messages - it was 
short and to the point: "The Germans are all but finished. The war in 
Europe will be over in a matter of days or a few weeks at most. They have 
only enough strategic petroleum reserves for at most six more weeks. From 
this point onwards, Japan will have to continue fighting alone. Our special 
account is now depleted and there is no more to be got from KormorantT 

After five years of reading the secret messages being sent by Ambassador 
Oshima from Berlin to Tokyo, Denniston was about to lose their best source 
of intelligence inside the German hierarchy. It would be their best kept 
secret of the European war. With the European war all but over, this didn't 
matter half as much as the efforts underway to end the war in the Pacific. 

But with Berlin soon to fall to the Soviets, Denniston knew, there was still 
his man in Stockholm. It was also from Stockholm that the next piece of the 
Argentine puzzle fell into place. 

They knew about the special bank accounts mentioned in Oshima' s 
messages. In and above that known matter, there was the unknown matter of 
who Kormorant was. This was an enigma that Denniston, M and his people 
were hard at work trying to crack since this code name had first appeared in 
a Station Point Grey intercepts in late September 1944. Clearly whomever 


Komorant was, he or she was the courier carrying the important secrets on 

By this point they realized that this special agent and courier could not be 
either a Japanese or a German national, but a citizen of another country, 
perhaps even of a neutral country not directly involved in the war. This 
made their job of tracking this agent all the more difficult. 

Almost immediately M downplayed the possibility that Komorant had 
diplomatic immunity. No neutral country would risk the wrath of the allies 
at this juncture of the war. 

As they fitted together the puzzle, Denniston knew that the weakest link in 
this mysterious German-Japanese spy network was that the Allies had 
broken into the Abwehr codes since early on in the war. For the past several 
months since the summer of 1944 they had full access to the lists of 
travellers to and from occupied Europe. 

This list was being examined closely by a team of dedicated women 
archivists working in the passport control division of the Foreign Office in 
London. As a matter of security, the FO needed to screen all entrants to the 
UK and at their request the team had focused on Spanish speaking visitors 
from Lisbon or Switzerland. This had shortened the list considerably. 

There were a number of Portuguese and Spaniards citizens on this special 
"watch list" and M had allocated some of his already overworked assets to 
track these suspects to ground. With the South American angle pointing 


them in that direction M and MI-6 were narrowing their watch list to those 
individuals who had traveled to South American during the past eight 

It had been a long and intricate search but they finally had a prime suspect in 
the way of a Mister Ruiz from Madrid, a Spaniard who travelled from 
Lisbon to Buenos Aires on a regular basis on bank business. He took the 
Pan Am Clipper and always travelled first class, hardly what would be 
expected by a bank employee. He never booked passage on a ship. 

It was the MI-6 agent trailing him that had first noticed he carried a gold 
signet ring with a cormorant on it. The agent also discovered that he had 
surfaced in Madrid from the small coastal town of Algeciras, across the bay 
from Gibraltar. 

The suspect, Ruiz had suddenly turned up in Madrid and started to travel the 
South Atlantic route soon after the Gibraltar Affair and the Italian ghost ship 
carrying human torpedoes had been discovered and blown out of the water 
in Algeciras out in 1943. 

They were expecting a more thorough report about the suspect's most recent 
trip to South America trip. In the meantime both Denniston and M scoured 
their latest intercepts and intelligence reports for anything relating to 


On the European side of the equation, the Commander did not give much 
credence to the contents of the intercepted messages from Switzerland to 
Tokyo, nor from Moscow for that matter. 

The messages from Switzerland were as if from a jilted lover trying to re- 
win the affection of a disaffected suitor. The Foreign Ministry in Tokyo did 
not appear to take the recommendations from Switzerland seriously. The 
Japanese Embassy in Bern held that Dulles and his people were either not 
taking their efforts seriously or they were wasting their time. 

It was ironic but Dulles thought the same thing and said so, in so many 
words, in his messages to Washington. Yet he dutifully passed along To his 
superior in Washington everything the Japanese offered him through Bern. 

At this juncture in the war, through the USUKCAN Joint-Intelligence 
coordination committee organized through the British Embassy in 
Washington (what an acronym Denniston thought, sort of the sound one 
made when clearing one's throat) the Americans "shared their take on the 
Swiss Problem" with their British Counterparts when they met on a bi- 
weekly basis. 

The Brits in turn "sparingly shared with the Americans about their latest 
developments through Stockholm, without revealing their man, and the 
Canadians well they warmed a seat merely because of the unique role that 
Station Point Grey played in the game, quiet like a pretty young thing that 
sat waiting to dance with older and more experienced suitors. 


What the Americans did not know, since the Brits kept their cards close to 
their chest, was that it was Okamoto in Stockholm that was essential to 
allies' end game and not the legations in Switzerland. 

The Brits knew that Okamato had nothing to prove and everything to gain by 
being candid in his messages to Tokyo. The British had even gone so far as 
to ask the Swedish Government to help protect and nurture Okamoto as an 

When the commanding Admiral of the Imperial Japanese Navy moved from 
Berlin and across the Baltic by German minesweeper a few days before the 
capture of Berlin by the Soviets, as ranking Japanese Military officer in 
Europe the Admiral tried to push the Ambassador aside and take charge of 
the Japanese Embassy in Stockholm. 

It was evident to outsiders what was happening. At this delicate stage of the 
war, with tenuous diplomacy then underway by neutrals like Switzerland 
and Sweden to try to bring an end to the war the Swedish Government 
refused to acknowledge the Japanese Admiral's diplomatic credentials. 

Instead they sent him to a tenuous exile in a small town south of Stockholm. 
In so many words, they told him to "behave himself or he would be sent 
packing back to Berlin and the allies." While this did not stop him 
entirely, it set the Admiral on a very short lease of life in neutral Sweden. 

The Swedish refusal also brought Ambassador Suemasa Okamoto a respite 
from the infighting going on with the Japanese high command. 


Denniston and his cryptanalysts reading intercepts collected by Station Point 
Grey kept appraised of the simmering diplomatic drama in Stockholm as he 
continued to brief the Foreign Officer on the possible end games. It was like 
knowing your opposite 's hand in a game of high stakes poker. If the other 
side knew they knew the cards at hand they might deal from the bottom of 
the deck. 

In trying to assert their authority in Stockholm the unwelcomed Japanese 
military officials in Sweden foolishly decided to overplay their hand with 
Tokyo and in doing so gave up a clue about Kormorant. 

Denniston had passed along the Station Point Grey intercept that read to the 
effect that Kormorant had been in Berne in late march on business for his 
Madrid bank, had deposited on account a large sum of money, American 
dollars of all things (this would interest Dulles and the OSS) and had then 
left for Madrid on his latest assignment. 

This was all they needed to connect the dots. 

What MI-6 were to discover was that Ruiz's, a.k.a Kormorant, route was to 
collect the microfilm from Germany in a bank box in Switzerland, then 
transport it first by air from Switzerland to Madrid, then by train from 
Madrid to Lisbon, then by air from Lisbon to New York, with a follow up 
trip from New York to Buenos Aires. The trans -Atlantic route had been by 
Pan Am Clipper. A ship was too slow and dangerous. 


When the Denniston and Menzies had conferred, M felt it was not necessary 
"to get the yanks involved" and he would handle the matter. 

Some days later Denniston read in an intercept from Argentina that the 
courier Ruiz never caught his connecting flight from New York to Buenos 
Aires, but instead had been run over by a taxis and had ended up in a morgue 
in New York City. When they searched him they found the microfilm sewn 
into the spine and covers of his pocket bible. 

When M had his agents visit the morgue and take the man's fingerprints it 
turned out he was an Italian Naval officer with a Spanish Mother and an 
Argentine father. He had triple nationality. 

Although his real name was known to M, it was never revealed to Denniston 
and the Ruiz matter was closed. 

But the Argentine File remained open and M had planned to close the end of 
the pipeline. ... 


Chapter 29 - She Was M's Favourite and She Knew It 

Late one Saturday night while the occupants were out, the cat burglar 
entered by a second floor window at the back of the house. By the silhouette 
it was clearly not a man but a woman. She had small breasts but she had 
hips, that she could not hide and used to her advantage. 

The window she used to gain entrance in the upstairs bathroom was quite 
small and as she entered she nearly got stuck but in a move that only a circus 
performer would know about she rotated her hips diagonal to the rectangular 
window and shinnied in. Then she pulled a canvas bag up after her that had 
been tied to her right ankle with rope. She untied the rope and balled it up 
then placed it in the bag. 

She closed the bathroom window then opened the bathroom door before 
peering cautiously out. She held her breadth and hearing no noise she 
stepped out of the bathroom and walked lightly on the balls of her feet 
listening for any noise and looking for any movement from within the house. 

The silhouette moved like she knew the place intimately. Down the hallway 
and off to the left into the study. The door was locked but she picked the 
lock expertly, without leaving a scratch on the door plate and deftly closed 
the door behind her when she had gained entrance. 

It must have taken her at best thirty seconds from the time the bathroom 
window opened to the time the door to the study closed behind her. She took 


a small flashlight from her pocket and turned it on, first pointing it at the 
floor. She first walked carefully over to the drapes and pulled then down 
then she stepped nimbly over to the desk. 

The desk was an ornate thing, with a single lamp and a large green blotter. 
She turned on the lamp, turned off her flashlight and put it back into her 
pocket. She then stood in front of the desk and slowly surveyed the room. 

On the walls hung a number of paintings but one struck her as unique. It 
was a bright Picasso painting on the wall behind the desk. She marched 
over to the painting and peeked around the edge of the painting. She then 
swiftly lifted the painting off the wall and laid it on the desk. There was a 
safe set into that wall. Then she did the same with the paintings on the three 
other walls. 

From her left hand pocket she extracted a switchblade and flicked it open. 
Then swiftly and methodically she separated the frames from the paintings 
then she cut the canvasses out, rolled then together and then stuffed them 
into a canvas bag. 

She next set her ear up against the safe held her breadth and turned the 
tumbler. She closed her eyes and listened carefully. She could hear the 
click. She rotated the tumbler first in one direction then another. Then she 
stopped took in two soft breaths and then repeated the whole routine. For 
the next few minutes she concentrated on the sounds of the safe as she 
moved the tumblers back and forth. Then she stopped and smiled. 


Stepping back from the safe she slowly turned the handle. The door swung 
easily open. She was in! 

She peered into the safe. In front were small jewelry boxes which she 
ignored. Behind, there were a number of light blue envelopes stacked one 
atop another. She carefully lifted them and placed then in a sequence on the 
desk, with the bottom one on the left and the top one on the right. 

She next extracted a camera from the bottom of the canvas bag and took a 
picture of the front of the envelopes. The envelopes were all unsealed. The 
writing on the front of the envelopes was in Japanese. 

She sat down on the chair behind the desk and opened the top envelope and 
set the contents onto the desk in front of her. It was four pages of blue print 
Photostat drawings, obviously printed off microfilms, which she unfolded 
and set flat on the table. The writing was on the drawings was in German. 

She quickly studied at each page in case she was caught and the camera 
confiscated. She had a photographic memory and could understand the 
science because she had studied mathematics at Cambridge before the war. 

The first set of drawings were for a ceramic aerosol bomb, to dispense 
Trilon-83. The drawing showed the construction of the bombs, including 
parachutes and also showed how the bombs were to be stacked within the 
Wasserfall nose to be dispersed by a barometric fuse just before the missile 
smashed into its target, with the rocket set to spin during its final few 
seconds to fling the bombs in a large area. 


The cat burglar stood and lifted the camera, taking a picture of each of the 
four pages of drawings. She then refolded the drawings and placed them 
back into the envelope exactly the same way she found them. 

Without sitting she opened the next envelope. Inside were drawings for a 
water tight canister to hold a Wasserfall missile for transport by submarine. 
The canisters were to be lined two abreast on the deck of the submarine 
between Kaiten manned torpedoes. Each Kaitens were to tow the launch 
tubes some twenty miles to give the mother submarine time to escape before 
they were set adrift and launched around twenty miles from their target - 
San Francisco. 

Once released and free floating from the Kaitens like large naval mines, the 
canisters doubled as a launch tube, with the missile's exhaust popping the 
missile out of the tube. The Kaitens would then return to protect the mother 
submarine as it affected its escape. The whole plan was so simple! 

She photographed these drawings as well then returned these drawings to 
their rightful place. 

The next two envelopes contained drawings for a modified Wasserfall 
missile and for a radio homing system to be used with the missile. The 
missile system was a surface to surface modification with a smaller 
electronic platform and a much larger warhead. 


The Germans had thought of everything. The Was serf all would home on the 
signals of the AM radio stations at the centre of San Francisco. The homing 
device was a simple twin loop high frequency direction finder on a 
gimballed platform at the nose. 

The last letter outlined the secret flights from Germany to Argentina and the 
arrangements for payments. 

When she finished photographing the contents of all the envelopes she took 
two of the direction finding drawings out of their envelopes and carefully 
replaced the rest of the documents back into their envelopes and then back 
the safe and shut the safe, rotating the tumbler back on the same number she 
had found when she started her pinch. To the trained eye, the safe appeared 

She looked around the room one last time then extracted a small envelope 
from her right hand pocket and scattered its remnants on the floor behind the 
door. Then she replaced the envelope back into the canvas bag. 

When the police were called to investigate the break in and the theft of the 
four paintings they will find the planted evidence. A cigarette butt from a 
brand used by a known cat burglar in Buenos Aires. 

When they arrest the man, they will find the paintings rolled up inside the 
post of his brass bed and between two of the paintings will be found the two 
pilfered German Photostats outlining the intended target and the means of 


terminal guidance. These two incriminating drawings would set off alarms 
even here in Buenos Aires. 

The authorities would have no choice but to release the man when it 
becomes apparent that the theft of the paintings was of a lesser consequence 
that the matter of the industrial espionage. 

And the owner of the paintings, well, he would be tossed to the hungry 
German shepherds hot on the trail of traitors in their midst. And MI-6 would 
stand back and watch the whole thing as an exercise in expediency. Why do 
the dirty work when someone else can do it for you? 

She smiled as she closed the door to the study behind her. Who cares if he 
never figured out how the paintings got into the posts of his brass bed. No 
one would believe his denials, and his compatriots would have no choice but 
to run the petty thief out of town to the safety of one of the provinces. 

And the political scandal, by the end of the week it will be in all the 
Argentine newspapers. Reuters will have put it there. The Argentina 
Government would have no choice but to strike him from their delegates list 
to San Francisco Conference. M would be able to kill two birds with one 
well aimed stone. 

The cat burglar left the house the same way she had entered. The next stop 
was the man's room which didn't bother her because he was away in the 
country with one of his tarts for the weekend. Of this she was certain for the 
tart was one of them. Nothing had been left to chance. 


And her pictures would in an hour be in the diplomatic pouch and the 
blueprints on M's desk by the following afternoon. She would deliver them 
to him in person. For jobs like this she was M's favourite and she knew it. 
Then they would be off for dinner at the Savoy. 


Chapter 30 - Otherwise it is Gotterdamerung 

It was the Swedish Foreign Minister himself that contacted the Ambassador. 
They met quietly and discretely at the Minister's country home on a Sunday 
morning. That morning the Ambassador had gotten up earlier than usual 
and the Minister had sent a car to pick him up. It was a short drive from 
Stockholm to his country house. 

The Minister's little country house was painted white with light blue trim 
and sat at the edge of an idyllic lake, a lake found in any corner of the 
country. The Minister must have heard the car drive up for he was eagerly 
waiting to open the door even before the automobile had come to a complete 

They stepped in and he took the Ambassador's coat and ushered him into the 
front room. The house sounded deserted. There was a small fire burning in 
the fire place. The Minister did not even ask him to sit before he spoke 
thanking him for seeing him on such short notice. 

There's was a candid conversation without pleasantries, for the two men had 
met on a number of previous occasions and they had run out of pleasantries. 

The Minister immediately got to the point. "I received the British 
Ambassador late yesterday afternoon at the Ministry at his request. He has 
asked me to have a frank and open talk with you." 


The Ambassador was uncomfortable about the Admiral and the problems he 
had been causing him and the Embassy. "What about?" 

"They say a man was run over in New York last week carrying secret 
information for your military." 

The Ambassador was curious. "You know that I am unaware about such 
matters. How does this involve me?" 

"The information related to technology of a devastating kind that has of yet 
not appeared on the battlefield in your war with the British and Americans." 

The Ambassador's ears picked up. "Am I to understand this technology has 
been used elsewhere?" 

"The British are led to believe your Army used this technology in 1939 
against the Soviet Union and from 1941 onwards in parts of Manchuria, 
China and Korea. They mentioned a place called Unit 731 near Harbin." 

Okamato started to sweat. "I don't know of this things. What in fact are 
you suggesting?" 

"We would recommend the Empire of Japan not use this technology against 
the Americans or British under any circumstances. They would also 
recommend you stop using it against the Chinese and Koreans. The war is 
coming to an end and there will be matters of war crimes to be dealt with 


The Ambassador stayed silent. 

After a moment of silence the Swedish Foreign Minister continued. "The 
British has told us to convey to you that they have been made aware of a plot 
against the founding meeting of the United Nations in San Francisco by the 
Imperial Japanese Navy and the Empire of Japan." 

"Minister, I can neither confirm nor deny this even if I knew of such plans, 
which I do not." The Ambassador was carefully choosing his words, for he 
knew that he would have to convey back to Tokyo the content and nuances 
of their meeting as well as perhaps be judged by history of their meeting 
ever became known. "How do they reach their conclusion?" 

"They have told us that they have proof out of New York that your navy 
intends to use this technology in this attack. They will not let your 1-400 
submarines leave Japanese territorial waters." 

The Ambassador's blood pressure began to climb. The rogues he thought. 
"Why tell me this?" 

"The British want me to convey a message to you and they would ask you 
pass this along to Tokyo before the end of the day." The Minister handed 
the Ambassador a single sheet of paper with a short typed message. There 
was no header to the paper but attached was the British Ambassador's card. 


"It has come to the attention of His Majesty the King and his Government 
that the Imperial Japanese Navy and the Empire of Japan may be planning 
to disrupt the diplomatic gathering planned for the inaugural of the United 
Nations in San Francisco. Such an attack would serve no beneficial 
diplomatic purpose and would be viewed as a war crime and a deliberate 
attack against diplomatic non-combatants who are protected by the terms of 
the Hague and Geneva Conventions. Such an unwarranted attack might 
lead to retribution and could possibly end any likely conciliation by the 
United Nations to a negotiated end to this conflict. " 

Ambassador Okamoto read the message twice more before raising his head 
to speak. "I have no sway over the Admirals and Generals in Tokyo 
Minister. Surely you must understand this." 

"We know why you were sent here by Tokyo. Your role is to stand ready to 
negotiate." The Minister smiled and weak and tepid smile. 

The Ambassador deeply felt the awkwardness of the moment. "There are 
hotheads in Japan who want to fight to the very end." 

"It is time to negotiate and bring an end to this dreadful war. We know you 
are talking with the Soviets in Moscow and with the Americans in Bern." 

The Ambassador nodded. 

"The British somehow know you are getting nowhere with the Soviets and 
with the Americans." 


The Ambassador grimaced. 

"The Americans are wanting reckoning and the Soviet are eyeing territory. 
The British have asked that the Swedish Government help in this 

The Ambassador knew that the British were the lesser of their enemies. He 
had already send a strongly worded message, an edict in fact, to Tokyo that 
unless they made peace and reached an accommodation with the British and 
the Americans, the Soviets would invade the home islands and seek an even 
greater revenge for past defeat and humiliation. 

In reaching an accommodation with the Western Powers Suemasa Okamoto 
figured the Japanese ought to play both two ends against the middle and 
become good anti-communists to buy time to restore Japan as a great power. 
A hundred years from now who will remember this time he had said in the 
same message. 

"We have agreed because we feel they are the best route to find a diplomatic 
end to the war. Otherwise it will be an even bigger blood bath then it has 
already been. " 

"I need to confer with the Suzuki Government in Tokyo. How can I 
convince them that this is genuine?" 


The Minister had talked this very matter over with the British Ambassador 
and they had a joint prepared riposte. 

"The Swedish Military have recovered a German missile in the Baltic known 
as the Was serf all. We understand that your navy has an interest in the 
machine. Would you like to see the missile? We have it laid out in a hangar 
at a military airfield outside of Stockholm. Perhaps we should let you take 
the Admiral along with you?" 

"I take it this missile is one of the technologies you are talking about?" 

The Minister nodded. "Listen Ambassador we will not slay the messenger, 
and you are the messenger." The Minister was firm and decisive in his 

The Ambassador bowed his head and peered down at the message again. "If 
they ask in Tokyo about the retribution? They are already bombing my 
country unremittingly and they have sunk almost all of our merchant fleet 
and navy. " 

"I am not naive. We know your military people knew this was inevitable. 
In fact they knew this before they started the war in the Pacific." The 
Minister turned and walked over to the large window which looked out 
across a placid lake. "I don't really know how to say this." 


"We ourselves directly know about the other technology. We have a sample 
in one of our labs here in Stockholm. It's a chemical weapon and quite 
brutal. The British know we have it. They will have told the Americans." 

"Will you tell me more?" 

"It came to us directly from Germany. I told the British Minister about it 
yesterday when we spoke." The Minister peered back briefly over his right 
shoulder before turning back to the window. 

The Ambassador shuffled over and stood next to him and stared blankly out 
of the window. Each man eyed at the reflection of the other. 

"It pains me to have to say this but ... you need to feed your people ... 
everything may hinge on your rice crop in the spring." 

The Ambassador's heart stopped and skipped a beat. Nothing was said for 
several minutes. 

Then the Minister looked up into the sky. "Do you like music 

"Yes ..." The word all but stuck in this throat. 


"I prefer Mozart 


The Swedish Minister turned to face Suemasa Okamoto and nodded glumly. 
The Ambassador turned to face the Minister. 

Okamoto was impatient. "Why do you ask?" 

The Minister reached out and grabbed both arms of the Ambassador and 
gripped them strongly. "Tell Tokyo . . . We need to end this thing and end it 
soon . . . otherwise it is Gotterdamerung." 

Okamoto was taken aback. He had once before heard that term ... 
associated with the Nazi's plans for the final defence of Berlin. 

And Suemasa knew how that had turned out in the end. All was lost. 


Chapter 31 - The Queen of Station Point Grey 

Now that Oshima in Berlin was off the air, Susan had been moved onto the 
Stockholm circuit. They had also replaced the old curmudgeon, the duty 
officer, when they promoted her. She now out ranked him and they replaced 
him with a junior officer. 

She knew this was a measure of her status amongst the intercept crew at 
Station Point Grey. 

A rather lengthy message was sent on her second watch from Stockholm 
bearing an urgent designator. Then for two nights there were no messages 
sent either way between Tokyo and Stockholm. On the third night, a short 
message was sent from Tokyo. It was four code groups long. 

Usually the very short messages were either trivial .... nothing to report . . . 
or the most important . . . proceed with operation XYZ . . . 

The following evening and for some days afterwards a series of long 
messages were sent to and from Stockholm. The intercepts were recorded 
on wax phonographs while she also wrote down the code groups. 

The messages were sent slowly and deliberately and there were a number of 
repeats asked by Tokyo. Their atmospherics must have been a problem. 


For the past few days, Susan had kept watch out of the corner of her eyes for 
the Moscow and Bern circuits, but her colleagues were evidently not 
handling such important traffic. 

For her intercepts, a special dispatch courier was standing by on his Iroquois 
motorcycle to whisk them away, phonographs and all, the moment the 
messages ended. The action, she thought, was without question coming out 
of Stockholm. 

As the Queen of Station Point Grey Susan had never felt so important . . .